1  * 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


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EMERSON  IN  CONCORD 


WRITTEN    FOR   THE    "SOCIAL   CIRCLE"    IN 
CONCORD,  MASSACHUSETTS 


BY 


EDWARD  WALDO  EMERSON 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1895 


LIBRARY 

IMVERS1TY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1888, 
BT  EDWARD  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Att  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  U.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


Not  his  the  f  caster's  wine, 

Nor  gold,  nor  land,  nor  power  ; 
By  want  and  pain  God  screeneth  him 

Till  his  appointed  hour. 
Go,  speed  the  stars  of  thought 

On  to  their  shining  goals  ; 
The  sower  scatters  broad  his  seed, 

The  wheat  thou  strew'st  be  soula. 


88234 


I  want  to  tell  you  something,  Gentlemen.  Eternity 
is  very  long.  Opportunity  is  a  very  little  portion  of 
it,  but  worth  the  whole  of  it.  If  God  gave  me  my 
choice  of  the  whole  planet  or  my  little  farm,  I  should 
certainly  take  my  farm. 

Ma.  EJUSBSON'B  JOUKNAL  FOB  1852. 


EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 


"God,  when  He  made  the  prophet,  did  not  unmake  the 
man."  — LOCKE. 

IT  has  been  the  good  and  time-honored  practice 
of  the  SOCIAL  CIRCLE  to  preserve  in  its  book  as 
true  a  picture  as  may  be  of  the  life  of  each  de 
parted  member.  Thus  the  task  fell  to  me  of  writ 
ing  for  the  chronicles  of  his  village  club  the  story 
of  my  father. 

His  friend  Mr.  Cabot  has  written  this  story  for 
the  world.  Everything  was  put  into  his  hands,  and 
he  made  good  and  true  and  loyal  use  of  the  trust. 

I  write  for  my  father's  neighbors  and  near 
friends,  though  I  include  many  who  perhaps  never 
saw  him.  His  public  life  and  works  have  been  so 
well  told  and  critically  estimated  by  several  good 
and  friendly  hands  that  I  pass  lightly  over  them, 
to  show  to  those  who  care  to  see,  more  fully  than 
could  be  done  in  Mr.  Cabot's  book  consistently 
with  its  symmetry,  the  citizen  and  villager  and 
householder,  the  friend  and  neighbor.  And  if  I 
magnify,  perhaps  unduly,  this  aspect  of  my  fa- 


"  2  *  'EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ther,  it  is  to  show  those  whom  his  writings  have 
helped  or  moved  that  his  daily  life  was  in  accord 
with  his  teachings. 

I  ask  attention  to  the  spirit  even  more  than  the 
matter  of  the  extracts  from  his  journals  here 
given.  These  were  chosen,  but  a  hundred  others 
would  serve  as  well.  It  is  now  imputed  as  a  short 
coming  that  he  did  not  do  justice  to  the  prevail 
ing  power  of  evil  in  the  world.  Fortunately  he  did 
not.  It  was  not  the  message  given  to  him.  He 
could  not.  For  that  which  made  him  live  and 
serve  and  love  and  be  loved  was  —  a  good  Hope. 


In  the  ancient  graveyard  at  Ipswich,  in  this  State, 
lies  buried  Thomas  Emerson,  the  first  of  the  name 
in  this  country,  who  came  among  the  very  early 
settlers  to  Massachusetts  Bay,  probably  from  the 
neighborhood  of  Durham,  in  northeastern  Eng 
land.  He  is  styled  Thomas  Emerson,  Baker.  His 
son,  Joseph,  took  a  step  onward,  and  dispensed  the 
bread  of  life  to  the  settlers  of  Mendon,  and  took  a 
Concord  woman  to  wife,  namely,  Elizabeth  Bulke- 
ley,  daughter  of  the  second  and  granddaughter  of 
the  first  minister  of  this  town. 

But  their  son,  Edward,  in  spite  of  —  perhaps 
because  of  —  this  priestly  ancestry,  relapsed  to 
things  of  this  world,  and  was  for  a  time  a  "  Mer 
chant  in  Charlestown,"  though  on  his  gravestone 


ANCESTORS.  3 

it  was  thought  fitter  to  call  him  "  sometime  Dea 
con  of  the  church  in  Newbury." 

His  son,  Joseph,  was  the  minister  of  Maiden ; 
strengthened  the  religious  tendency  of  the  family 
by  marrying  the  daughter  of  the  famous  and  eccen 
tric  Father  Moody,  of  York  (Agamenticus),  Maine, 
and  this  couple,  out  of  their  numerous  family,  gave 
three  young  ministers  to  the  Colony,  of  whom  one 
of  the  youngest,  William,  came,  as  his  diary  re 
cords,  often  on  horseback  to  Concord  to  preach  for 
Dr.  Bliss,  and  when  that  zealous  preacher  died  was 
chosen  his  successor.  The  young  minister,  only 
twenty-two  years  old,  boarded  with  Madam  Bliss, 
and  soon  won  the  affection  of  her  daughter  Phebe, 
bought  the  fields,  pasture  and  hill  at  the  bend 
of  the  Musketaquid,  soon  to  become  famous,  and 
built  the  Manse,  where  his  children  were  born 
in  the  next  ten  years,  during  which  this  earnest 
and  patriotic  man  strove  to  do  his  duty  to  his  par 
ish  and  his  country,  and  to  strengthen  the  hearts 
and  hands  of  his  flock  in  days  the  gloom  of  which 
only  the  bright  light  of  patriotism  and  trust  in 
God  could  dispel.  The  first  great  crisis  of  the 
struggle  came,  and  in  his  own  town.  At  the  alarm 
before  daylight  of  the  April  morning,  the  young 
minister  answered  the  call,  and  on  the  village  com 
mon  did  his  best  to  uphold  the  courage  of  his 
townsfolk  and  parishioners  and  their  trust  in  their 
good  cause.  The  first  volleys  of  the  war  were 


4  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

exchanged  by  the  royal  troops  and  provincials  across 
the  little  bridge  close  by  his  house.  Next  year  he 
joined  the  army  at  Ticonderoga  as  chaplain,  and 
sickened  and  died  at  Eutland  of  camp-fever.  He 
left  several  daughters  and  one  son,  William,  who 
graduated  at  Harvard  College  in  1789,  and  after 
ward  was  settled  as  minister  in  the  village  of  Har 
vard,  Mass.,  whither  he  brought  Miss  Ruth  Haskins 
of  Boston  to  be  his  wife.  She  was  a  lady  of  un 
failing  sweetness  and  serenity,  but  also  of  courage 
and  quiet  strength,  for  which  later  she  had  need. 
In  1799  Mr.  Emerson  was  urgently  called  from 
the  quiet  village  among  the  Worcester  County  hills 
to  take  charge  of  the  First  Church  in  Boston.  The 
society  worshipped  in  the  Old  Brick  Church  in 
Cornhill,  but  in  1808  built  a  new  one  in  Chauncy 
Place,  and  the  parsonage  was  close  by  on  Summer 
Street.  Here,  where  Hovey's  great  store  now 
stands,  the  Emersons  lived  among  scattered  man 
sions  surrounded  by  enclosed  gardens,  with  vacant 
fields  near  by  and  a  view  of  the  harbor  and  ship 
ping  below,  where 

"  Twice  a  day  the  flowing  sea 
Took  Boston  in  its  arms." 

Here  all  but  one  of  their  eight  children  were 
born.  A  little  Phebe  Ripley  had  been  born  in 
Harvard,  and  died  the  year  after  the  family 
removed  to  the  city.  The  seven  little  people  that 
soon  after  claimed  a  birthright  in  Boston  were : 


WILLIAM  EMERSON  OF  BOSTON.  5 

John  Clarke  (born  1799),  William  (born  1801), 
Kalph  Waldo  (born  May  25,  1803),  Edward 
Bliss  (born  1805),  Robert  Bulkeley  (born  1807), 
Charles  Chauncy  (born  1808),  and  Mary  Caroline 
(born  1811).  The  eldest,  John  Clarke,  died  in 
childhood,  as  did  also  the  little  sister,  a  sad  chance 
for  her  brothers.  Bulkeley,  though  a  pleasant  boy, 
always  remained  childish  in  mind,  and  was  there 
fore  dependent  on  his  brothers,  and  a  source  of 
anxiety  to  them.  The  future  history  of  William, 
Edward,  and  Charles  will  be  mentioned  in  connec 
tion  with  the  later  fortunes  of  their  brother  Waldo. 
But  to  return  to  the  father  of  this  family.  Mr. 
Emerson  was  a  cheerful  and  social  man,  of  literary 
taste  and  skill.  Besides  writing  a  history  of  his 
church  and  making  a  collection  of  hymns,  he  was 
for  years  editor  of  the  Monthly  Anthology,  a  jour 
nal  in  which  the  best  men  of  letters  of  the  day  in 
Boston  and  Cambridge  were  interested,  and  which 
died  with  him.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Ministers'  Library,  afterwards  merged  in  the  Bos 
ton  Athenaeum.  Both  he  and  his  father,  William 
of  Concord,  valued  and  were  esteemed  in  their  day 
for  eloquence.  Both  of  these  men  seem  to  have 
been  more  interested  in  the  central  ethics  of  Chris 
tianity  than  in  the  grim  doctrines  in  which  it  had 
been  enveloped,  and  in  spite  of  the  reaction  to 
wards  Calvinism  which  Whitefield's  eloquence  and 
Edwards's  fire  had  produced  in  many  New  Eng- 


6  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

land  churches,  did  not  emphasize  Grace  in  their 
sermons,  but  appealed  to  the  virtue  and  good  sense 
of  their  people  in  the  name  of  God  :  — 

"  For  faith  and  truth  and  mighty  love, 

Which  from  the  Godhead  flow, 
Showed  them  the  life  in  heaven  above 
Springs  from  the  life  below."  x 

Of  William  Emerson  of  Boston  his  son  says : 
"  I  think  I  observe  in  his  writings  ...  a  studied 
reserve  on  the  subject  of  the  nature  and  offices  of 
Jesus.  They  had  not  made  up  their  minds  on  it. 
It  was  a  mystery  to  them,  and  they  let  it  remain 
so."  In  view  of  the  son's  shrinking  from  all  at 
tempts  to  wall  in  the  living  truth  with  forms,  his 
father's  early  wish  and  hope,  while  still  in  Harvard, 
of  moving  to  Washington,  and  there  founding  a 
church  without  written  expression  of  faith  or  cove 
nant,  is  worthy  of  note.  The  humor  and  the  affec 
tionate  and  domestic  expressions  in  my  father's 
letters  to  his  family  and  nearest  friends  often 
strangely  recall  the  letters  of  his  father  and  grand 
father  to  those  of  their  own  household,  which  were 
familiar  and  often  witty  and  playful  to  a  degree 
remarkable  in  New  England  correspondence  of 
those  days,  usually  stiffened  with  formality  and 
crowded  with  religious  exhortation  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  aught  else  human.  Whether  his  duties  as 

1  Hymn  by  Mr.  Emerson  at  the  ordination  of  his  successor, 
Rev.  Chandler  Bobbins. 


THE  DAME  SCHOOL.  7 

preacher,  pastor,  editor  and  social  citizen  occupied 
Mr.  Emerson's  time  so  much  that  he  could  spare 
little  to  his  children,  or  that  Ealph  was,  as  some 
children  are,  too  much  wrapped  up  in  his  childish 
reveries  and  experiments  to  notice  early  his  elders 
except  when  required  to  do  so,  probably  from  both 
causes,  the  son  had  very  little  recollection  of  his 
father,  although  it  appears  in  the  family  letters 
that  Ralph's  education  had  begun  before  he  was 
three,  at  the  "  dame  school,"  and  that  his  father, 
when  at  home,  required  that  William  and  Ralph, 
aged  respectively  five  and  three,  should  recite  to 
him  before  breakfast  a  sentence  of  English  gram 
mar.  Yet  so  dull  was  the  younger  that  it  stands 
recorded  by  his  father,  a  week  before  his  third 
birthday,  that  Ralph  does  not  read  very  well. 

Poetry  and  Letters  came  hand  in  hand  with  Art 
to  meet  the  little  scholar,  for  in  later  years  my 
father  wrote  to  his  friend,  Rev.  William  Furness 
of  Philadelphia,  "My  wife  reads  you  and  venerates 
you :  then  I  brag  that  I  went  to  school  with  him  to 
Miss  Nancy  Dickson,  and  spelt  out  The  House  that 
Jack  Built  on  his  red  handkerchief." 

Rev.  William  Emerson  died  in  May,  1811,  in 
middle  life.  Of  this  event  my  father  only  could 
remember,  with  a  little  boy's  interest  and  pride, 
the  stateliness  of  the  funeral,  at  which  the  Ancient 
and  Honorable  Artillery  escorted  to  the  grave  the 
body  of  their  late  chaplain. 


8  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Mrs.  Emerson  found  herself  a  widow,  with  a 
family  of  five  little  boys  to  be  provided  for,  Wil 
liam,  the  eldest,  being  but  ten  years  old,  and  Kalph 
Waldo  but  eight.  To  a  woman  of  her  stamp  pro 
vision  for  her  sons  meant  far  more  than  mere  food, 
raiment  and  shelter.  Their  souls  first,  their 
minds  next,  their  bodies  last :  this  was  the  order 
in  which  their  claims  presented  themselves  to  the 
brave  mother's  mind.  They  must  be  pious  and 
dutiful  for  their  eternal  welfare ;  and  then  the  tra 
ditions  of  the  family  in  all  its  branches  required 
that  they  should  be  well  read  and  instructed,  and 
Harvard  College  was  the  gate  through  which  many 
of  their  ancestors  had  gone  to  the  storehouses  of 
godly  knowledge,  which  it  was,  to  her  mind,  the 
highest  function  of  a  man  to  dispense  to  less  fa 
vored  souls.  Lastly,  in  those  days  the  body  had  to 
look  after  itself  very  much  :  more  reverently  they 
put  it,  The  Lord  will  provide. 

Her  husband's  friends  and  parishioners  and  the 
relatives  did  what  they  could  to  help  the  family  of 
their  dead  pastor.  The  church  with  great  gene 
rosity  continued  the  salary  six  months,  and  voted 
to  pay  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  for  seven  years, 
eo  the  family  were  in  no  immediate  distress.  Mrs. 
Emerson  stayed  in  the  parsonage,  and  her  hus 
band's  successor  boarded  with  her,  but  did  not  live 
long;  and  when  Mr.  Frothingham  was  settled  as 
minister,  Mrs.  Emerson  moved,  first,  I  believe,  to 


AUNT  MARY.  9 

Atkinson  Street  and  then  to  a  house  on  Beacon 
Hill,  and  supported  her  family  by  taking  boarders. 
The  boys  appear  to  have  taken  care  of  the  vestry. 
They  helped  as  they  could  in  domestic  matters,  but 
they  were  expected  to  lose  as  little  time  as  might 
be  from  reading  and  writing.  There  seems  to  have 
been  little  play.  To  their  books  they  took  as  duck 
lings  to  water.  When  some  one  spoke  of  their  pro 
gress,  their  aunt  said,  "  Sir,  they  were  born  to  be 
educated."  And  it  would  be  hard  to  overestimate 
the  effect  upon  these  young  minds  of  this  same 
proud,  pious,  eccentric,  exacting,  inspiring  Aunt 
Mary  Moody  Emerson.  She  had  been  adopted  in 
her  infancy  by  relatives  so  poor  that  they  lived  in 
constant  fear  of  the  sheriff.  She  had  been  trained 
in  hardship  and  sordid  poverty,  far  from  cultivated 
society,  and  under  religious  influences  mainly  Cal- 
vinistic,  but  she  had  managed  to  go  through  a 
wider  range  of  books  than  most  clergymen  of  her 
day,  with  a  sure  taste  for  superior  writing  and  a 
judgment  most  critical.  Though  exacting  in  her 
standards  of  conduct,  and  often  exasperatingly 
frank  in  her  criticisms  of  her  friends,  her  pride  in 
and  real  affection  for  her  young  relations,  and  in 
terests  not  only  lofty  but  broad,  commanded  their 
loyal  affection.  Their  mother  was  a  serene  and 
ennobling  presence  in  the  house ;  their  aunt  a  spur, 
or,  better,  a  ferment  in  their  young  lives,  and  one 
that  was  never  inert,  for  she  made  frequent  visits 


10  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

to  her  relations,  and,  in  whatever  remote  part  of 
New  England  she  might  be  boarding,  her  letters, 
by  every  opportunity  of  travelling  minister  or 
friend,  incited  her  nephews  to  the  search  for  wis 
dom  or  pursuit  of  virtue,  and  required  of  them  an 
account  of  their  progress.  She  guided  their  read 
ing  and  made  them  think  about  it.  She  stimu 
lated  them  by  discussion,  rallied  them  on  their 
young  vanities,  and  by  this  very  correspondence 
trained  them  in  reasoning  and  expression.  Of  her, 
her  nephew  wrote  thus  :  "  She  gave  high  counsels. 
It  was  the  privilege  of  certain  boys  to  have  this  im 
measurably  high  standard  indicated  to  their  child 
hood,  a  blessing  which  nothing  else  in  education 
could  supply."  "  Lift  your  aims ; "  "  Always  do 
what  you  are  afraid  to  do;"  "  Scorn  trifles ;"  — 
such  were  the  maxims  she  gave  her  nephews,  and 
which  they  made  their  own. 

The  contrast  between  the  lives  of  children  then 
and  now  is  almost  painfully  shown  in  the  earnest 
letters  from  William  Emerson  and  his  wife,  giving 
directions  as  to  the  discipline  and  instructions  of 
little  John  Clarke,  the  oldest  child,  to  some  rela 
tives  in  Waterford,  Maine,  with  whom  he  was  to 
pass  a  year. 

After  the  dame  schools,  my  father  went  for  a 
short  time  to  the  grammar  school,  taught  by  Mr. 
Lawson  Lyon,  a  severe  master,  who  wielded  not  the 
birch  in  vain.  Among  his  schoolmates  was  John 
Marston,  later  a  commodore  in  the  U.  S.  Navy. 


LATIN  SCHOOL  DAYS.  11 

In  1813,  Ralph,  as  he  was  called  until  he  left  col 
lege,  when  he  chose  to  be  called  Waldo,  entered  the 
Latin  School,  and  received  there  most  of  his  offi 
cial  schooling  from  Master  Benjamin  Gould  until 
he  entered  college.  Before  he  was  ten  years  old  he 
made  two  friends  for  life,  William  H.  Furness,  al 
ready  mentioned,  and  Samuel  Bradford,  —  the  one 
a  distinguished  Unitarian  clergyman,  the  other 
an  esteemed  man  of  affairs.  Both  survived  him. 
Ralph  wrote  verses,  nonsensical  and  ambitious  by 
turns,  modelled  on  those  of  the  English  authors 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  usually  correct  in  rhyme 
and  metre,  full  of  high-flown  but  conventional 
expressions.  One  of  these,  an  epic  entitled  "  The 
History  of  Fortus,  a  Chivalric  Poem,  in  one  vol 
ume,  complete  ;  with  Notes,  Critical  and  Explana 
tory,  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  LL.  D.,"  l  was  written 

1  When  overwhelming  multitudes  of  warriors,  reinforced  by  two 
fire-breathing  dragons,  rush  upon  the  wearied  knight  — 

"  Fortus  beholds  —  recovers  breath, 
Then  arms  to  do  the  work  of  death, 
Then  like  a  Lion  bounding  o'er  his  foes 
Swift  as  the  lightning  he  to  combat  goes. 


Six  score  and  twenty  thousand  'gan  the  fray, 
Six  score  alone  survived  that  dreadful  day. 
Ah !  hear  the  groans  of  those  that  bled 
In  that  sad  plain  o'erlaid  with  dead. 
Fortus,  who  would  not  quit  the  field, 
Till  every  foe  was  forced  to  yield, 
To  tender  pity  now  transformed  his  wrath, 
And  from  the  bloody  field  pursued  his  path." 


12  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

when  he  was  ten  years  old,  and  "  embellished  with 
elegant  Engravings,"  by  his  friend  William  Fur- 
ness.  The  notes,  added  three  years  later,  are  of 
an  amusing  severity.  But  chiefly  the  prowess  of 
the  United  States  frigates  in  the  war  then  going 
on  was  the  inspiring  theme.  He  remembered 
well  Captain  Lawrence's  sailing  out  with  a  raw 
crew  and  imperfect  equipment,  to  accept  the  chal 
lenge  of  battle  sent  in  by  the  commander  of  the 
Shannon,  and  seeing  the  Boston  people  on  the 
roofs  watching  anxiously  that  disastrous  fight  in 
the  bay.  He  answered  with  his  schoolmates  the 
call  for  volunteers  to  do  some  shovelling  on  the 
works  at  Noddle's  Island,  but  could  not  remember 
that  any  actual  work  was  done  by  the  boys.  These 
old  days  are  recalled  in  his  letter  to  his  ever-loyal 
friend,  Dr.  Furness,  in  1838 :  — 

"  It  is  the  pleasure  of  your  affection  and  noble 
ness  to  exaggerate  always  the  merits  of  your  friends. 
I  know  the  trait  of  old,  from  Mr.  Webb's  school 
onwards,  and  so  delight  now  as  much  as  then  in 
the  smiles  and  commendations  of  my  Maecenas. 
But  how  can  you  keep  so  good  a  nature  from  boy 
to  man  ?  Nobody  but  you  and  my  brother  Edward 
would  praise  the  verses  to  the  immortal  Hull,1 
nor  could  be  induced,  though  I  read  them  never 
so  often.  And  now  the  case  is  scarcely  altered ; 
everybody  thinks  my  things  shocking  but  you  and 

1  One  of  the  youthful  lyrics  in  honor  of  the  navy. 


THE   TRUANT.  13 

a  few  generous  hearts  who  must  be  to  me  for 
Edward.  I  love  to  know  you  are  there." 

The  allusion  to  Mr.  Webb's  school,  a  writing 
school  on  the  other  side  of  the  Common  from  the 
grammar  school,  to  attend  which  Ralph  was  dis 
missed  for  the  last  hour  of  the  morning,  recalls  a 
fall  from  virtue  which  must  be  chronicled,  since 
an  English  biographer  complains  that  Mr.  Emer 
son,  with  his  eyes  open,  "  chose  to  lead  a  life  of 
absolute  conformity  to  the  moral  law."  From  this 
school  —  I  have  heard  his  own  confession  —  he 
deliberately  and  continuously  played  truant,  and 
enjoyed  the  stolen  hours  on  the  Common  till  such 
time  as  was  needed  for  "  sorrow,  dogging  sin,"  in 
the  shape  of  bread-and-water  confinement  (prob 
ably  devoted  to  making  verses),  to  run  down  its 
prey. 

Against  the  notion  that  his  boyhood  was  abso 
lutely  empty  of  that  on  which  most  boys  live,  these 
imperfect  notes,  from  a  journal,  must  have  their 
weight :  — 

"Affectionate  recollections  of  going  into  water 
after  school  in  Charles  Street,  and  the  plafond  view 
of  rope-walks.  What  dangers  turned  us  pale  at 
a  panic  of  North-Enders,  South-Enders,  Round- 
Pointers  !  Sea-fencibles  and  the  soldiery  of  1813, 
and  Noddle's  Island.  The  pride  of  local  knowl 
edge  of  the  Extinguisher,  Dispatch  and  Cataract 
fire-engines.  Armories  and  immense  procession  of 


14  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

boys  in  uniform  at  the  Washington  Benevolent 
Association. 

"In  old  Boston  a  feature  not  to  be  forgotten  was 
John  Wilson,  the  Town-crier,  who  rang  his  bell  at 
each  street  corner :  '  Lost !  a  child  strayed  this 
morning  from  49  Marlboro'  Street ;  four  years  old  ; 
had  on  a  checked  apron,'  etc.  '  Auction !  Battery- 
march  Square,'  etc.  He  cried  so  loud  that  you 
could  not  hear  what  he  said  if  you  stood  near." 

But,  boy  or  man,  he  found  that  social  and  stir 
ring  life  was  only  good  for  him,  diluted  with  nine 
parts  of  solitude,  wherein  he  might  muse  upon  and 
interpret  the  scene. 

"  I  remember  when  a  child  in  the  pew  on  Sun 
days  amusing  myself  with  saying  over  common 
words  as  *  black,'  '  white,'  '  board,'  etc.,  twenty  or 
thirty  times,  until  the  words  lost  all  meaning  and 
fixedness,  and  I  began  to  doubt  which  was  the 
right  name  for  the  thing,  when  I  saw  that  neither 
had  any  natural  relation,  but  were  all  arbitrary. 
It  was  a  child's  first  lesson  in  Idealism."  Yet  if 
the  minister's  voice  lulled  him  into  a  pleasing  mood 
for  these  speculations,  in  those  days  such  dreams 
would  be  rudely  broken  by  a  sound,  sudden  and 
fearful.  I  have  heard  him  say,  "  I  can't  think 
that  nowadays  those  sounds  are  heard  in  church, 
or  in  any  such  degree,  that  were  continual  in  my 
childhood  ;  I  think  considered  as  part  of  the  service 


BOYISH  LOVE  OF  RHETORIC.  15 

—  a  '  service  of  the  Lord  with  horns  in  the  Sanc 
tuary.'  The  old  school  of  Boston  citizens  whom  I 
remember  had  great  vigor,  great  noisy  bodies ;  I 
think  a  certain  sternutatory  vigor,  the  like  whereof 
I  have  not  heard  again.  When  Major  B.  or  old 
Mr.  T.  H.  took  out  their  pocket  handkerchiefs  at 
church  it  was  plain  that  they  meant  business  ;  they 
would  snort  and  roar  through  their  noses  like  the 
lowing  of  an  ox  and  make  all  ring  again.  Ah  !  it 
takes  a  North-Ender  to  do  that !  " 

Study,  all  but  mathematics,  in  which  he  was 
always  dull,  was  no  hardship  to  him,  and  while 
there  was  some  play,  the  main  recreation  of  these 
brothers  seems  to  have  been  reading  of  history,  the 
little  fiction  they  could  get  at,  and  always  poetry, 
but  especially  did  they  delight  in  fine  rhetoric  and 
eloquent  passages.  And  in  barns  or  garrets,  or  in 
Concord  woods  when  visiting  their  grandmother, 
they  forgot  their  surroundings,  or  turned  them  in 
their  young  imagination  into  Forum,  battlefield  or 
mountain-top. 

1856. 

Journal.  "  I  have  often  observed  the  priority  of 
music  to  thought  in  young  writers,  and  last  night 
remember  what  fools  a  few  sounding  sentences 
made  of  me  and  my  mates  at  Cambridge,  as  in 
Lee's  and  John  Everett's  orations.  How  long  we 
lived  on  Licoo,  on  Moore's  *  Go  where  Glory  waits 
thee '  and  Lalla  Kookh  and  ' When  shall  the  swan, 


16  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

his  death-note  singing.'  I  still  remember  a  sen 
tence  in  Carter  Lee's  oration :  '  And  there  was  a 
band  of  heroes,  and  round  their  mountain  was  a 
wreath  of  light,  and,  in  the  midst,  on  the  moun 
tain-top,  stood  Liberty  feeding  her  eagle.'  " 

Towards  the  end  of  the  year  1814  the  family 
began  to  feel  severely  the  pinch  of  poverty,  and  it 
is  said  that  they  even  fell  short  of  bread.  In 
stantly  the  good  Dr.  Ezra  Bipley,  who  interpreted 
most  generously  his  relation  to  the  descendants  of 
his  wife,  came  to  their  aid  and  carried  his  step 
son's  widow  and  her  boys  to  his  fireside  in  Con 
cord  until  the  cold  season  of  famine  should  pass  by. 
Perhaps  December  of  1814  was  the  time,  for  a  let 
ter  from  Edward  to  William,  who  was  then  a  Fresh 
man  in  college,  shows  the  brothers  in  the  Concord 
Schools :  — 

"  Ralph  and  I  and  Charles  go  to  Mr.  Patten's 
school.  Charles  spelt  with  the  first  class.  We 
all  say  that  we  like  Mr.  Patten  better  every  day. 
I  wish  very  much  that  you  would  come  here,"  etc. 

There  are  a  few  records  of  this  school  life. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  and  quarrelled  with  Elisha 
Jones  and  Frank  Barrett,  Dr.  Ripley  sent  for  them 
one  evening  to  come  to  the  house  and  there  made  us 
shake  hands.  Aunt  Mary  asked  me,  '  Well,  what 
did  you  say  to  them?'  'I  did  not  say  anything.' 
'  Fie  on  you  !  You  should  have  talked  about  your 
thumbs  or  your  toes  only  to  say  something.'  " 


SCHOOL  DAYS  IN  CONCORD.  17 

A  gentleman,  who  in  his  youth  was  clerk  in 
Deacon  White's  store,  tells  us  that  he  used  to  love 
to  hear  the  small  Ralph  declaim,  and  would  cap 
ture  him  when  he  came  on  an  errand  and  set  him, 
nothing  loath,  on  a  sugar  barrel  whence  he  would 
entertain  his  earliest  Concord  audience,  the  chance 
frequenters  of  the  grocery,  with  recitations  of  po= 
etry,  very  likely  Campbell's  Glenara  or  the  Kos- 
ciusko  passage,  or  statelier  verses  from  Milton. 

But  in  spite  of  spelling  and  arithmetic  in  the 
public  school,  and  long  sermons  in  the  church,  and 
family  worship,  and  catechising  at  the  Manse  con 
ducted  by  the  good  Doctor,  and  the  piling  of  wood 
in  the  yard  or  bringing  it  in  by  armfuls  to  feed  the 
hospitable  fires,  the  Muses  were  there,  as  every 
where.  Ralph  had  sung  the  victories  of  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  on  the  waters  in  the  war,  and  had 
within  the  year  borne  an  active  part  in  it,  at  least 
to  the  extent  of  volunteering  with  his  school-mates 
to  handle  a  shovel  for  an  hour  or  two  on  the 
works  at  Noddle's  Island,  and  now  that  (as  he 
hinted  in  his  speech  in  his  old  age  to  the  Latin 
School  at  their  celebration)  Great  Britain,  hearing 
of  that  action,  had  thought  it  best  to  make  peace, 
when  the  great  news  was  brought  to  Concord  and 
the  national  joy  found  expression  in  ringing  of  the 
church  bell  and  illumination  of  the  Court  House 
steeple,  that  humble  blink  of  whale-oil  or  tallow 
seen  by  him  half  a  mile  away  across  the  meadows 


18  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

at  the  Manse  "  appeared  very  brilliant,"  he  tells 
William  in  his  letter,  and  he  breaks  forth  into 
song :  — 

"  Fair  Peace  triumphant  blooms  on  golden  wings, 
And  War  no  more  of  all  his  victory  sings." 

Opposite  the  Manse  was  a  hill  giving  a  wide 
prospect  westward  over  the  undulating  landscape 
of  forest  and  clearing  to  Monadnoc  and  the  lower 
mountains  on  the  New  Hampshire  boundary,  and, 
close  by,  of  the  round  hill  Nashawtuc  (once  the 
seat  of  the  Sagamore  Tahattawan,  last  prince  of 
the  Stone-age),  at  the  base  of  which  the  swifter 
Assabet  joins  the  Musketaquid,  and  thence  united 
they  lazily  sweep  northwards  behind  the  Manse 
to  the  Great  Meadows  to  the  east.  Above  these 
meadows  and  behind  the  hill  on  low  bluffs  were 
old  Indian  cornfields,  grown  up  to  oak  and  birch 
wood,  and  known  as  Caesar's  Woods  and  Peter's 
Field,  because  of  a  family  of  negro  squatters  near 
by.  But  here  the  brothers  Ealph,  Edward  and 
Charles  found  values  unknown  to  the  owners. 

"  They  took  this  valley  for  their  toy, 

They  played  with  it  in  every  mood  ; 
A  cell  for  prayer,  a  hall  for  joy,  — 
They  treated  nature  as  they  would. 

"  They  colored  the  horizon  round  ; 

Stars  flamed  or  faded  as  they  bade, 
All  echoes  hearkened  for  their  sound, 
They  made  the  woodlands  glad  or  mad. "  * 

1  DIRGE  in  the  Poems. 


THE  BROTHERS.  19 

There  they  wandered  and  dreamed,  talked  of 
their  heroes,  and  recited  to  each  other  or  to  the 
birch -trees  the  resounding  verses  that  delighted 
them.  Oak  and  aspen,  brake  and  golden-rod,  held 
their  identity  and  values  very  loosely. 

"  For  in  those  lonely  grounds  the  sun 

Shines  not  as  on  the  town, 
In  nearer  arcs  his  journeys  run, 
And  nearer  stoops  the  moon. 

"  There  in  a  moment  I  have  seen 

The  buried  past  arise  ; 
The  fields  of  Thessaly  grew  green, 
Old  gods  forsook  the  skies. 

"  I  cannot  publish  in  my  rhyme 

What  pranks  the  greenwood  played  ; 
It  was  the  Carnival  of  Time 
And  ages  went  or  stayed." l 

So  in  these  days  of  his  youth  "  these  poor  fields  " 
bound  him  unconsciously  with  ties  which  drew  him 
back  before  many  years  to  live  and  dream  and 
prophesy  and  die  in  them. 

Better  days  came  to  the  country,  and  the  family 
left  the  sheltering  ancestral  roof  and  returned  to 
Boston  in  the  summer  of  1815  to  live  on  Beacon 
Hill,  the  good  Dr.  Ripley  sending  them  a  Concord 
cow,  which  Ralph  daily  drove  to  pasture  down  that 
now  aristocratic  declivity. 

The  history  of  the  family  during  the  next  ten 
1  PETER'S  FIELD  in  the  Appendix  to  Poems  (Riverside  Edition). 


20  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

years  may  be  thus  stated.  Each  son,  except  Bulke- 
ley,  was  fitted  for  college,  doing  his  full  share  of 
the  work  himself,  and  pursuing  general  culture, 
eagerly  seizing  all  means  (books  solid  or  imagina 
tive,  sermons,  addresses,  debates)  that  fell  in  their 
way  meanwhile  for  recreation.  One  or  another  of 
them  was  always  acting  as  usher,  teaching  and 
studying  at  once  in  the  boys'  school  at  Waltham  of 
their  ever  friendly  and  helpful  uncle,  Bev.  Samuel 
Ripley.  They  lived  frugally  among  the  frugal, 
applied  for  and  kept  by  diligence  any  scholarships 
that  were  to  be  had,  earned  money  by  serving  in 
Commons,  by  helping  their  more  prosperous  and 
less  diligent  fellow-students,  by  teaching  during 
vacations,  and  by  winning  an  occasional  prize  for  a 
dissertation,  declamation,  or  poem.  Madam  Emer 
son  never  wanted  friends  who  gladly  helped  her 
boys,  but  such  help  was  almost  always  received  as 
a  loan  to  be  strictly  repaid  in  time.  Each  son  felt 
his  duty  to  help  his  mother  and  the  younger  ones, 
but  of  course  the  burden  of  care  and  responsibility 
weighed  heaviest  on  the  shoulders  of  William,  the 
eldest,  who  entered  college  when  he  was  only  thir 
teen  years  old,  and  left  its  stamp  on  him  through 
all  his  days,  which,  though  prolonged  past  middle 
life,  were  undoubtedly  shortened  and  deprived  of 
their  full  share  of  happiness  and  vigor  by  the  he 
roic  burdens  assumed  and  sacrifices  made  by  him 
in  youth  and  early  manhood  for  his  family. 


HIS  MOTHER.  21 

To  show  the  Spartan  counsels  that  braced  these 
boys,  I  give  extracts  from  the  letters  of  his  mother 
and  Aunt  Mary  to  William  when  he  had  just  en 
tered  college,  and  had  evidently  given  an  account 
of  his  new  room  in  the  severe,  barrack-like  dormi 
tories  of  those  days. 

"MY  DEAR  SON,  —  You  did  right  to  give  me 
so  early  a  proof  of  your  affection  as  to  write  me 
the  first  week  of  your  College  life.  Everything 
respecting  you  is  doubtless  interesting  to  me,  but 
your  domestic  arrangements  the  least  of  anything, 
as  these  make  no  part  of  the  man  or  the  character 
any  further  than  he  learns  humility  from  his  de 
pendence  on  such  trifles  as  convenient  accommo 
dations  for  his  happiness.  You,  I  trust,  will  rise 
superior  to  these  little  things,  for  though  small  in 
deed,  they  consume  much  time  that  might  be  ap 
propriated  to  better  purpose  and  far  nobler  pur 
suits.  What  most  excites  my  solicitude  is  your 
moral  improvement  and  your  progress  in  virtue. 
.  .  .  Let  your  whole  life  reflect  honor  on  the  name 
you  bear.  .  .  .  Should  Paul  plant  and  Apollos 
water,  it  is  God  alone  who  can  give  the  increase." 

His  Aunt  Mary  said  :  — 

"  Some  lady  observed  that  you  felt  your  depen 
dent  situation  too  much.  Be  humble  and  modest, 
but  never  like  dependence.  .  .  .  God's  bounty  is 
infinite.  Be  generous  and  great  and  you  will  con 
fer  benefits  on  society,  not  receive  them,  through 
life." 


22  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Modern  Harvard  even  though  delivered  from  the 
Greek  fetich,  and  with  freest  election  of  studies, 
may  be  a  more  comfortable  place  for  the  study  of 
the  humanities.  Is  it  a  better  school  of  character  ? 

The  mother  could  afford  to  give  brave  counsel, 
for  the  sons  knew  her  tenderness,  and  she,  in  her 
letters  to  them,  never  complained  of  her  own  cir 
cumstances,  seldom  mentioned  them,  was  constantly 
admonishing  them  to  do  well,  but  affectionately 
and  naturally.  She  quotes  Dr.  Johnson's  New 
Year's  prayer  to  William  in  her  letter  of  January 
1,  1816,  and  ends  her  letter  thus  :  — 

"  Wishing  you  all  the  happiness  consistent  with 
a  life  of  progressive  knowledge,  piety,  and  heav 
enly  wisdom,  I  remain, 

"  Your  truly  affectionate  friend  and  mother, 

"KuxH  EMERSON." 

Of  the  Waltham  teaching  period  I  find  in  my 
father's  journal  for  1830,  this  mention,  probably 
autobiographic. 

"  Eobin  went  to  the  house  of  his  uncle,  who  was 
a  clergyman,  to  assist  him  in  the  care  of  his  pri 
vate  scholars.  The  boys  were  nearly  or  quite  as 
old  as  he,  and  they  played  together  on  the  ice  and 
in  the  field.  One  day  the  uncle  was  gone  all  day 
and  the  lady  with  whom  they  boarded  called  on 
Eobin  to  say  grace  at  dinner.  Robin  was  at  his 
wit's  end,  he  laughed,  he  looked  grave,  he  said 
something,  —  nobody  knew  what,  —  and  then 


ENTERS  COLLEGE.  23 

laughed  again,  as  if  to  indemnify  himself  with  the 
boys  for  assuming  one  moment  the  cant  of  a  man. 
And  yet  at  home  perhaps  Robin  had  often  said 
grace  at  dinner." 

Ralph  entered  college  at  the  age  of  fourteen  in 
1817.  He  was  President's  Freshman,  and  so,  in 
return  for  carrying  official  messages  from  the  Rev. 
John  T.  Kirkland  to  students  and  officers  of  the 
college,  had  a  room  in  the  old  President's  house, 
still  standing  in  Harvard  Square. 

When  William  was  absent  teaching,  Ralph,  who 
seems  to  have  had  thoroughly  in  youth  the  disease 
mothers  complain  of  as  the  "  silly  stage,"  used  to 
delight  in  sending  to  the  oldest  brother,  naturally 
anxious  for  the  sobriety  or  studiousness  of  the 
younger  boys,  letters  full  of  scraps  of  verse,  to 
which  Wrilliam  was  never  addicted,  and  these  of  a 
doggerel  type. 

In  a  letter  to  William,  at  Waltham,  retailing  the 
college  news,  extolling  Everett's  oratory,  telling  of 
the  books  he  reads,  he  says,  — 

"  I  shall  chum  next  year  with  Dorr,  and  he 
appears  to  be  perfectly  disposed  to  study  hard. 
But  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to 
understand  Mathematicks  and  Greek  thoroughly 
to  be  a  good,  useful  or  even  great  man.  Aunt 
Mary  would  certainly  tell  you  so,  and  I  think  you 
yourself  believe  it,  if  you  did  not  think  it  a  dan 
gerous  doctrine  to  tell  a  Freshman.  But  do  not  be 


24  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

afraid,  for  I  do  mean  to  study  them,  though  not 
with  equal  interest  to  other  studies." 

During  the  winter  vacation  Waldo  succeeded 
William  in  Mr.  Ripley's  school.  The  letters  grow 
more  manly,  and  begin  to  show  solicitude  to  do 
his  share  to  make  life  easier  for  their  mother.  In 
his  Sophomore  year  he  availed  himself  of  the  op 
portunity  given  to  the  poorer  students  of  offsetting 
part  of  the  price  of  their  board  by  waiting  on  the 
Juniors'  table  at  Commons.  That  year  occurred  the 
famous  Rebellion,  which  broke  out  in  Commons 
Hall.  In  it  he  took  no  active  part,  and  returned 
with  his  class  to  Cambridge  in  February,  1819. 
Later  he  was  admitted  to  the  Conventicle  and 
Pythologian  Clubs,  convivio-literary  bands,  and  of 
one  of  them  he  tells  William  that  his  membership 
means  that  he  is  "  one  of  the  fifteen  smartest  fel 
lows."  The  festivities  and  debates  of  these  gather 
ings  he  has  himself  chronicled  in  the  life  of  his 
classmate,  John  M.  Cheney,  written  for  the  Social 
Circle.  To  show  that  the  iron  rule  of  life  had 
occasional  relaxation,  I  quote  from  his  journal :  — 

"  I  drank  a  good  deal  of  wine  (for  me)  with  the 
wish  to  raise  my  spirits  to  the  pitch  of  good  fellow 
ship,  but  wine  produced  its  old  effect,  I  grew  graver 
with  every  glass." 

Yet  while  he  could  write  an  occasional  Bacchic 
song  for  his  mates,  he  quotes  the  above  passage 
later  as  characteristic  of  "  My  doom  to  be  solitary," 


COLLEGE  DAYS.  25 

and  neither  in  horse-play  nor  social  gatherings  did 
he  find  his  natural  recreation,  but  in  omnivorous 
reading  outside  the  curriculum,  and  constant  writ 
ing.  Indeed,  the  expenses  to  meet  which  these 
boys  wanted  money  seem  to  have  been  oil,  paper 
and  quills.  They  read  good  standard  works,  con 
stantly  practised  writing  journals,  essays,  poems 
and  meditations  as  a  daily  amusement.  Edward 
when  at  Andover  at  school,  and  only  eleven  years 
old,  wrote  fairly  good  letters  in  Latin  to  his  oldest 
brother  at  the  latter's  request.  Kalph  and  Edward 
read  French  books  together  when  respectively  only 
thirteen  and  eleven.  Their  mother  sent  them 
books  like  Flavel's  "  How  to  Keep  the  Heart  "  and 
"  Mason  on  Self-Knowledge."  Kalph  writes  to 
William,  April,  1819  :  — 

"  If  you  could  see  me  now  by  the  benefit  of 
Merlin's  mirror  or  other  assistance,  you  would  pity 
me.  The  hour  is  soon  after  5  o'clock  A.  M.,  at 
which  time,  by  the  way,  I  get  up  every  morning 
and  sometimes  at  half-past  four.  Well,  at  this 
hour,  in  Hollis,  standing  at  your  old  desk  twisting 
and  turning,  endeavoring  to  collect  thoughts  or  in 
telligence  enough  to  fill  the  dreary  blank  of  a  page 
and  a  third  more.  Add  to  my  relative  situation 
my  chum  asleep  very  near  me. 

"Saturday  24th  I  am  going  to  Boston  to  see 
Aunt  Mary,  who  has  returned  from  her  Concord 
and  Waltham  visits.  Our  next  theme  is  Avarice, 


26  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Mr.  Willard  always  gives  us  these  trite  and  sim 
ple  subjects  contained  in  one  word.  Mr.  Oilman 
gives  the  Juniors  a  motto  and  generally  a  very 
good  one  with  more  uncommon  subjects." 

If  the  Emersons  could  not  get  enough  writing 
to  do  in  the  ordinary  course  of  work  they  some 
times  took  contracts  outside.  An  anecdote  told  me 
of  Edward  by  his  classmate  shows  how  the  brothers 
eked  out  their  finances. 

Mr.  John  C.  Park  says :  — 

"  I  and  some  others  used  to  make  a  little  money 
by  writing  themes  for  those  who  found  it  harder. 
The  way  we  used  to  do  was  to  write  out  any  ideas 
which  occurred  to  us  bearing  on  the  subject,  and 
then,  having  cut  the  paper  into  scraps,  to  issue  it 
to  the  various  buyers  to  use  in  their  themes,  con 
densing  and  improving  all  the  best  of  it  for  our 
own.  Well,  one  morning, ,  your  Uncle  Ed 
ward's  chum,  came  out  and  stood  on  Hollis  steps 
and  called  out,  4  Look  here,  fellows  !  I  've  got  some 
thing  to  show  you.  I  want  you  to  listen  to  this 
and  tell  me  if  it 's  worth  fifty  cents,'  and  proceeded 
to  read  what  Emerson  had  written  for  him.  You 
see  he  had  come  down  in  his  style  to  make  it  possi 
ble  for  the  professor  to  believe  that  the  theme  could 

have  emanated  from ,  and  in  his  endeavors 

to  do  so  had  written  so  humbly  that himself 

doubted  if  it  were  worth  half  a  dollar." 

Where  the  money  went  that  the  boys  managed 


CLASS  POET.  27 

to  earn  is  illustrated  by  the  story  my  father  told 
me,  that  he  proudly  sent  home  the  five  dollars 
which  he  won  at  the  Boylston  prize  declamation, 
but  on  his  next  visit  found  that  William,  the  care 
worn  head  of  the  family,  then  eighteen  years  old, 
had  paid  the  baker  with  it.  Ealph  had  hoped  his 
mother  would  buy  a  new  shawl.  He  took  the  same 
year  the  second  prize  for  a  Dissertation  on  "  the 
Present  State  of  Ethical  Philosophy." 

He  graduated  in  1821,  hardly  more  than  in  the 
upper  half  of  his  class,  and  had  a  part,  "  The 
Character  of  John  Knox,"  in  a  Conference  on  sev 
eral  historical  characters.  He  was  chosen  Class 
Poet,  after  seven  others  had  refused  the  office ; 
Kobert  Barnwell,  a  brilliant  Southerner,  being  the 
Orator.  One  cannot  find  the  germ  of  the  Wood- 
notes  or  Monadnoc  in  this  poem,  conventional  in 
imagery  and  expression  and  regular  in  metre.  At 
different  times  he  chummed  with  two  classmates, 
and  in  the  senior  year  roomed  with  Edward,  then 
a  Freshman.  The  claims  of  the  scholar's  two  hand 
maids,  Society  and  Solitude,  he,  through  all  his  life, 
was  weighing,  but  always  favored  the  latter.  In 
1859  he  thus  decides ;  and,  in  doing  so,  gives  this 
summary  of  his  college  course :  — 

"  '  In  the  morning,  —  solitude,'  said  Pythagoras. 
By  all  means  give  the  youth  solitude  that  Nature 
may  speak  to  his  imagination  as  it  does  never  in 
company,  and  for  the  like  reason  give  him  a  cham- 


28  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ber  alone,  and  that  was  the  best  thing  I  found  in 
College." 

Now  he  was  free  to  work  to  help  the  family  and 
a  place  was  ready  for  him,  for  William  having 
worked  hard  and  denied  himself  that  every  penny 
should  come  home,  teaching  a  High  School  in 
Kennebunk,  had  returned  and  established  a  pri 
vate  school  for  the  young  ladies  of  Boston  more 
than  a  year  before,  and  offered  his  brother  the 
place  of  assistant.  It  is  hard  now  to  imagine  two 
young  men  of  eighteen  and  twenty  years  (the  age 
of  Freshmen  and  Juniors  now)  opening  a  "  finishing 
school "  for  the  first  young  ladies  of  the  capital ; 
but  such  was  the  venture,  and  the  dignity,  deco 
rum  and  scholarly  thoroughness  of  William  had 
already  made  the  school  an  assured  success.  The 
school  was  kept  in  Mrs.  Emerson's  house. 

On  this  undertaking,  Edward  irreverently  com 
ments  to  William :  — 

"  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  you  had  determined  to 
commence  school  in  Boston  and  that  you  had  such 
'  respectable '  scholars,  and  I  think,  now  people 
are  so  fond  of  novelty,  that  your  external  appear 
ance  will  add  much  to  your  reputation,  for  never 
did  such  a  Narcissus  appear  in  the  character  of  a 
school-master  before ;  therefore  I  hope  the  school 
will  be  full  before  people  have  time  to  find  out 
how  little  you  know." 

Soon  after  this  the  family  moved  to  Canterbury, 


"GOOD-BYE,  PROUD    WORLD."  29 

a  part  of  Roxbury,  and  lived  in  a  little  house  in  a 
lane  (now  Walnut  Avenue  near  Blue  Hill  Avenue) 
owned  by  a  neighboring  farmer,  Mr.  Stedman 
Williams. 

This  thickly  built  part  of  Boston  was  then  a 
picturesque  wilderness  of  savin,  barberry  bush, 
catbrier,  sumach  and  rugged  masses  of  pudding 
stone  ;  and  here  Ralph,  shaking  off  academic  har 
ness  and  the  awkwardness  and  formality  of  the 
usher  in  a  girls'  school,  wrote 

"Good-bye,  proud  World,  I'm  going  home," 

within  three  miles  of  the  State  House.  He  was 
both  annoyed  and  amused  at  often  seeing  his  boy 
ish  verses,  which  he  hardly  tolerated  in  the  later 
editions  of  his  poems,  asserted  to  have  been  a  shak 
ing  off  of  the  dust  of  his  feet  against  an  unappre- 
ciative  city  when  he  left  his  profession  and  came 
to  Concord. 

"  In  Roxbury  in  1825  I  read  Cotton's  transla 
tion  of  Montaigne.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had 
written  the  book  myself  in  some  former  life,  so 
sincerely  it  spoke  my  thought  and  experience.  No 
book  before  or  since  was  ever  so  much  to  me  as 
that." 

Though  he  told  his  classmate  Hill  and  his  Aunt 
Mary  in  his  letters  that  he  did  not  enjoy  Nature  so 
much  as  he  had  hoped  to,  yet  it  was  evidently  a 
delightful  relief  to  the  youth,  —  hampered  by  his 


30  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

shyness  in  his  rather  uncongenial  occupation,  which 
he  called  "  lifting  the  truncheon  against  the  fair- 
haired  daughters  of  this  raw  city,"  though  the  task, 
it  is  safe  to  say,  was  no  worse  than  bitter-sweet,  — 
to  rush  out  to  blossoms  and  boughs  and  be  free 
to  write  the  thoughts  of  which,  he  said,  his  brain 
must  yield  its  burden  or  die. 

The  school  was  continued,  but  when  Ralph  was 
well  established  in  it,  William,  inspired  no  doubt 
to  the  venture  by  the  experience  of  Edward 
Everett  and  George  Bancroft,  went  to  Germany 
to  study  for  the  ministry  at  Gottingen.  Here  he 
faithfully  worked  for  nearly  two  years,  delighted 
with  the  scholarly  opportunities  and  the  living  on 
almost  nothing-a-year,  then  possible,  but  disgusted 
with  the  idleness  and  dissipation  of  the  students. 
Ralph  carried  on  the  school  for  more  than  a  year, 
but  it  was  a  sore  trial  for  a  bashful  youth,  unused 
even  to  sisters,  to  secure  attention  to  studies  (espe 
cially  mathematics  for  which  he  had  no  gift)  and 
observance  of  due  discipline  from  the  fashionable 
young  ladies  of  Boston,  many  of  them  older  than 
himself.  They  used  to  ask  him  on  Election  Day 
to  give  them  a  holiday  while  he  voted,  knowing 
him  to  be  a  minor.  They  liked  to  make  him  blush. 
When  in  1865  he  was  asked  by  many  of  these 
ladies,  his  old  scholars,  to  meet  them,  he  expressed 
to  them  his  regret  at  his  short-coinings  thus :  — 

"  My  teaching  was  partial  and  external.     I  was 


THE  SCHOOL-MASTER.  31 

at  the  very  time  already  writing  in  my  chamber 
my  first  thoughts  on  morals  and  the  beautiful  laws 
of  compensation  and  of  individual  genius,  which 
to  observe  and  illustrate  have  given  sweetness  to 
many  years  of  my  life.  ...  I  am  afraid  that  no 
hint  of  this  ever  came  into  the  school." 

Miss  Hannah  Stevenson,  one  of  these  ladies, 
told  me  that  neither  the  parents  nor  pupils  con 
sidered  the  school  a  failure.  She  says  that  they 
found  out  that  to  praise  Dugald  Stewart's  Phi 
losophy,  which  he  had  lately  read,  and  which  was 
one  of  the  few  metaphysical  works  he  liked,  was 
a  way  to  please  him. 

Meantime  he  was,  as  opportunity  offered,  prepar 
ing,  like  William,  to  assume  the  hereditary  gown, 
the  family  circumstances  had  eased  a  little,  and 
free  of  debts  he  joyfully  closed  his  school,  Febru 
ary  8,  1825,  and  that  evening  records  that  he  goes 
to  Cambridge  next  day  to  study  divinity  in  the 
Middle  Class. 

In  a  letter  to  his  Aunt  Mary  of  self-examination 
before  he  enters  the  study  for  the  ministry,  speak 
ing  of  his  slight  success  as  school-master,  but  honest 
work,  he  calls  himself  "  ever  the  Dupe  of  Hope." 

He  took  a  room  in  Divinity  Hall  for  its  cheap 
ness,  —  a  ground-floor  apartment  with  northeast 
exposure,  —  and  within  a  month,  sick  and  with 
bad  eyes,  was  obliged  to  go  to  his  Uncle  Ladd's 
in  Newton  to  recuperate  his  strength  on  the  farm. 


32  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Working  here  in  the  field  with  a  laborer  they  fell 
artalking  and  the  man,  a  Methodist,  said  that  men 
are  always  praying,  and  that  all  prayers  are  an 
swered.  This  statement  struck  Waldo,  and  upon 
this  theme  he  wrote  his  first  sermon,  which  he 
preached  that  summer  in  Waltham  in  the  pulpit 
of  his  Uncle  Ripley.  Next  day  in  the  stage-coach 
a  farmer  said  to  him,  "  Young  man,  you  '11  never 
preach  a  better  sermon  than  that." 

The  autumn  came  and  with  health  partly  restored 
he  went  to  Chelmsford  to  teach  the  Academy.  His 
brother  Bulkeley  was  there  on  a  farm.  Among 
his  pupils  was  a  boy  of  whom  he  said  later :  "  He 
was  a  philosopher  whose  conversation  made  all  the 
social  comfort  I  had."  This  boy,  Benjamin  Peter 
Hunt,  later  of  Philadelphia,  in  a  letter  written  in 
1860  says :  — 

"  It  is  now  thirty-five  years  since  you  began  your 
teachings  to  me,  and,  with  the  exception  of  those 
of  the  great,  rough,  honest  and  impartial  world,  I 
think  they  have  been  the  best  which  I  ever  received 
from  any  man  whom  I  have  personally  known.  1 
hope  I  shall  continue  to  receive  similar  teachings 
thankfully  as  at  present  for  many  years  to  come." 

Another  pupil,  Mr.  Josiah  G.  Abbott,  now  of 
Boston,  said  that  no  punishment  for  any  misbe 
havior  could  have  been  more  deeply  felt  than  hear 
ing  the  tone  in  which  Mr.  Emerson  spoke  of  it  as 
"Sad!  sad!" 


THE  DIVINITY  STUDENT.  33 

But  at  Chelmsford  rheumatism  and  bad  eyes 
pursued  him,  and  after  three  months  he  had  to 
resign  his  charge  there  and  go  once  more  to  Rox- 
bury,  this  time  to  assume  the  successful  school  of 
his  younger  brother  Edward,  whose  heroic  labors 
in  college  and  after  had  so  far  undermined  his 
strength  that  he  had  been  advised  to  take  a  voy 
age  to  the  Mediterranean.  Waldo,  as  he  now  pre 
ferred  to  be  called,  taught,  though  he  was  not  well, 
and  in  spring  took  a  school  in  Cambridge  (his 
last  venture  of  this  kind)  in  order  to  be  where  he 
might  get  what  benefit  his  time  allowed  from  the 
Divinity  School,  and  in  October  of  this  year,  1826, 
having  studied  in  some  sort  for  three  years,  he  was 
"  approbated  to  preach  "  by  the  Middlesex  Associ 
ation  of  Ministers.  He  once  said  that  if  they  had 
examined  him  it  would  have  been  doubtful  if  they 
would  have  allowed  him  to  preach.  At  this  time 
Edward  writes  :  "  Mother  has  already  gone  to  Con 
cord.  She  was  happy  in  her  prospects,  happy  in 
our's,  happy  in  Waldo's  (though  he  was  quite  sick 
while  here),  and  as  sure  as  she  always  is  of  divine 
protection  and  interposition." 

But  now,  with  his  profession  opening  before  him, 
to  weak  eyes  and  lame  hip  was  added  a  threaten 
ing  stricture  of  the  right  chest,  aching  after  each 
attempt  to  preach,  and  he  was  ordered  by  his  doc 
tor  to  go  South  and  stay  till  his  condition  mended. 

The  generous  uncle,  Rev.  Samuel  Ripley,  ad- 


34  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

vanced  money  and  gave  letters  of  credit  for  this 
trip,  and  Dr.  Ripley  invited  Madam  Emerson  to 
the  Manse.  Edward  writes  to  William :  — 

"November  27,  1826. 

"Waldo  sailed  in  the  new  ship  Clematis  for 
Charleston,  S.  C.  He  will  return,  we  think,  in 
April  and  may  either  be  a  renewed  and  robust 
man  or  a  confirmed  invalid.  .  .  .  He  has  preached 
at  Waltham  and  in  the  First  Church  [his  father's, 
in  Chauncy  Place]  to  acceptance,  and  to  the  admi 
ration  of  the  intellectual  part  of  his  auditors." 

And  the  next  month  he  says :  — 

"  BOSTON,  December  26. 

"Would  you  hear  a  high  compliment  paid  to 
your  brother's  preaching?  I  heard  Dr.  Chamiing 
preach  a  sermon  which  I  considered  as  too  elevated 
and  sublime  to  be  an  object  of  human  praise,  and 
in  the  same  evening  heard  Dr.  Gamaliel  Bradford 
observe  that  there  was  not  therein  one  half  so 
much  thought  as  in  Waldo's  discourse." 

He  got  no  better  in  Charleston,  and  so  went  on 
to  St.  Augustine,  where  he  chafed  in  exile,  wrote 
some  sermons  and  rather  despondent  verses,  marked 
with  natural  disfavor  the  idleness  and  dissipation 
of  the  populace,  and  had  his  first  real  view  of 
Slavery.  But  he  had  an  oasis  in  this  desert ;  he 


VISIT  TO   THE  SOUTH.  35 

met  and  formed  a  friendship  with  Achille  Murat, 
the  son  of  Napoleon's  Murat,  Byron's  fine  lines 
upon  whom  I  have  so  often  heard  him  recite  with 
pleasure. 

"  And  thou  too,  of  the  snowwhite  plume  ! 
Whose  realm  refused  thee  even  a  tomb  ; 
Better  hadst  thou  still  been  leading 
France  o'er  hosts  of  hirelings  bleeding 
Than  sold  thyself  to  death  and  shame 
For  a  meanly  royal  name  : 

There,  where  death's  brief  pang  was  quickest, 

And  the  battle's  wreck  lay  thickest 

Strewed  beneath  the  advancing  banner 

Of  the  eagle's  burning  crest  — 

(There  with  thunder-clouds  to  fan  her, 

Who  could  then  her  wing  arrest  — 

Victory  beaming  from  her  breast  ?) 

While  the  broken  line  enlarging, 

Fell,  or  fled  along  the  plain  ; 

There  be  sure  Murat  was  charging  I 

There  he  ne'er  shall  charge  again  !  " 

The  son  took  Mr.  Emerson  to  his  inland  estate, 
a  two  days'  ride,  and  later  they  sailed  together  for 
Charleston,  and  the  bad  voyage  of  nine  days  was 
made  happy  by  this  attractive  and  superior  com 
panion. 

The  invalid  worked  cautiously  northward,  preach 
ing  in  Charleston,  Washington,  Philadelphia  and 
New  York  ;  but  though  he  had  gained  weight  and 
strength,  the  "villain  stricture"  still  remained, 


36  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

and  when  he  came  to  Concord  in  June  to  see  his 
mother  he  was  almost  ready  to  abandon  his  pro 
fession,  despairing  of  ever  being  able  to  speak  in 
public,  and  finding  that  two  sermons  a  day  taxed 
his  voice  alarmingly.  Still  he  did  not  lose  cour 
age,  preached  when  he  could,  and,  taking  a  far- 
sighted  view  of  the  situation,  was  more  prudent 
than  his  brothers  could  have  been,  engaged  a  bet 
ter  room  in  Divinity  Hall  to  study  as  he  could,  and 
says  in  his  letters  that  he  sought  out  good  laughers 
and  gossip. 

During  the  latter  half  of  1827  he  supplied  the 
Northampton  pulpit  for  three  Sundays  and  twice 
spoke  in  his  father's  church.  He  also  preached 
for  his  kinsman  Dr.  Dewey  in  New  Bedford. 

In  December,  during  a  visit  to  Concord,  New 
Hampshire,  —  "  New  Concord  "  as  he  must  have 
heard  it  called  somewhat  intolerantly  in  his  ances 
tral  town,  —  he  met  Ellen  Louisa  Tucker,  and  went 
away  not  unaffected  by  her  fine  character  and  deli 
cate  beauty.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Beza  Tucker, 
a  Boston  merchant  who  had  died  a  few  years  ear 
lier,  and  her  mother  had  married  Mr.  W.  A.  Kent 
of  Concord,  New  Hampshire. 

All  through  the  next  year  he  lived  at  Divinity 
Hall,  except  when  he  visited  the  Manse,  trying  to 
regain  his  strength,  studying,  reading  Hume  and 
Coleridge,  and  strongly  interested  in  the  Scotch 
and  English  reviews  in  which  the  papers  of  a 


ELLEN  TUCKER.  37 

Thomas  Carlyle  appeared,  and  in  these  years  he 
had  become  attracted  to  the  writings  of  Emmanuel 
Swedenborg  chiefly  by  means  of  his  disciple  Mr. 
Samson  Reed,  a  Boston  apothecary,  whose  book  on 
the  Growth  of  the  Mind  had  two  years  earlier 
given  him  great  pleasure. 

Until  he  could  feel  assurance  of  life  and  work 
ing  power  he  avoided  engagements  to  preach  as  a 
candidate,  and  refused  three  such  opportunities. 
During  a  visit  of  Dr.  Ripley's  to  Washington  he 
supplied  the  Concord  pulpit. 

Again  in  December  he  thought  he  could  trust 
himself,  after  a  year's  absence,  in  the  dangerous 
neighborhood,  and  went  to  preach  in  Concord,  New 
Hampshire,  but  before  the  New  Year  came  in  he 
was  engaged  to  Ellen  Tucker.  When  he  began 
to  speak  of  his  prospects  he  records  that  she  said, 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  of  your  prospects." 

But  within  a  month  when  the  prospect  was  hap 
piest,  and  even  while  he  was  receiving  the  call  of 
the  Second  Church  in  Boston  (the  old  church  of 
Cotton  Mather)  to  come  as  the  associate  pastor 
with  the  Rev.  Henry  Ware,  Ellen  Tucker  showed 
alarming  signs  of  the  development  of  consumption. 
Dr.  James  Jackson  gave  hope  however  that  she 
might  be  better,  and  my  father  entered  on  his  new 
duty  in  the  Hanover  Street  Church. 

In  his  first  sermon  he  gave  his  criticism  upon 
ordinary  preaching,  freely  stating  his  own  beliefs, 


38  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

and  warned  his  people  that  he  should  insist  on 
elbow-room  in  preaching.  His  relations  with  Mr. 
Ware  were  the  best  throughout.  Soon  the  senior 
pastor's  health  required  that  he  should  go  abroad, 
and  the  young  minister  assumed  the  whole  duty. 
We  have  from  many  sources  witness  borne  that  his 
faith  and  his  earnestness  as  well  as  his  eloquence, 
which,  as  a  boy,  he  had  hoped  to  "  put  on  as  a 
robe,"  moved  his  people,  especially  the  young. 
Those  of  more  conservative  and  less  imaginative 
temperament  were  not  altogether  pleased. 

Witli  regard  to  his  success  in  the  more  perfunc 
tory  social  duties  of  a  parish  minister  there  is  more 
room  for  doubt. 

Colonel  Henry  Lee,  whose  knowledge  of  Boston 
in  this  century  is  apparently  unlimited,  says  that 
my  father's  parishioners,  the  North  End  people  of 
those  days,  had  a  decided  flavor  of  their  own  which 
would  have  appealed  to  his  imagination. 

Mrs.  Minot  Pratt,  a  parishioner  in  her  youth, 
says  that  her  father's  family  had  dreaded  any 
change  from  their  beloved  minister,  but  that  Mr. 
Emerson  came  among  them  as  sweetly  and  natu 
rally  as  Mr.  Ware  in  their  joys  and  in  their  afflic 
tions,  and  in  this  another  lady  who  was  present 
concurred.  They  both  remembered  Mrs.  Emerson, 
and  said  she  used  to  come  to  one  service  on  Sun 
days  in  a  carriage  because  of  her  delicate  health, 
though  in  those  days  only  the  Parkmans  came  to 


MARRIAGE.  39 

church  in  a  carriage.  Mrs.  Pratt  described  her  as 
very  beautiful,  and  says  that  she  seemed  to  remind 
people  of  a  flower.  She  speaks  of  Mr.  Emerson's 
delivery  as  very  natural  and  free  from  the  "  minis 
terial  tone  ; "  remarkably  quiet ;  and  she  mentioned 
especially  his  selection  of  hymns  and  reading  of 
them.  I  remember  his  often  saying  that  the  test 
of  a  good  pulpit  delivery  was  that  a  minister 
"  should  be  able  to  read  sense  and  poetry  into  any 
hymn  in  the  hymn-book." 

In  the  summer  of  1829  Mr.  Emerson  went  with 
Ellen  Tucker  and  her  family  on  a  driving  journey 
in  New  Hampshire  and  Massachusetts.  Under  this 
treatment  she  apparently  improved  and  new  hope 
revived.  On  the  last  day  of  September  they  were 
married  at  Concord,  New  Hampshire,  and  he 
brought  her  to  Boston  to  the  house  of  his  parish 
ioners  and  life -long  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Abel 
Adams  in  Chardon  Street.  Dr.  Jackson  advising 
against  Mrs.  Emerson's  going  South  for  the  win 
ter,  they  took  a  house  in  the  same  street,  —  Mr. 
Emerson's  mother  assuming  the  burden  of  the 
house-keeping,  and  his  brother  Charles,  then  study 
ing  law,  was  one  of  their  family.  But  in  spite  of 
care  and  nursing  and  cheerful  courage  and  hope 
and  even  gayety  on  her  part,  the  young  wife  grew 
yet  more  delicate,  and  in  March,  1830,  her  hus 
band  had  to  carry  her  southwards,  leaving  her  with 
her  family,  himself  returning  to  his  work.  She  re- 


40  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

turned  with  the  next  summer,  but  faded  gradually 
away,  and  died  on  the  8th  of  February,  1831,  only 
a  year  and  a  half  after  her  marriage. 

Mr.  Ware's  health  being  seriously  impaired  he 
had  meanwhile  resigned,  and  all  the  duties  of  the 
Second  Church  fell  to  Mr.  Emerson.  His  relation 
to  his  people  had  become  close :  he  and  they  had 
shared  joy  and  grief,  but  as  he  grew  he  found  the 
traditions  of  the  church,  even  in  its  most  liberal 
aspect  in  New  England,  oppressive,  and  the  expec 
tations  of  his  people  often  hampered  him. 

He  recoiled  at  Prayer  in  church  practice,  —  a 
stated  observance  which  must  take  place  whether 
the  minister  was  in  the  proper  frame  of  mind  or 
not.  He  felt  that  rites,  natural  and  spontaneous 
in  the  early  days  of  the  church,  had  lost  for  many 
if  not  most  worshippers  all  but  their  form,  and 
therefore  that  it  would  be  wiser  and  more  honest 
to  drop  them  or  perform  them  in  a  way  more  natu 
ral  to  the  people  of  the  day,  remembering  that 
these  were  but  symbols,  and  believing  that  the 
Oriental  phraseology  and  forms,  instead  of  inten 
sifying,  shut  off  the  rays  of  the  truth. 

In  June  of  1832  he  proposed  to  his  church  that 
they  should  dispense  with  the  use  of  the  bread  and 
wine  in  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  not  insist  upon  the 
authority  for  its  observance.  It  seems  as  if  he  had 
had  little  doubt  that  his  people  would  be  willing  to 
give  up  the  form  and  keep  the  spirit,  and  I  have 


PARTING  FROM  HIS  CHURCH.  41 

been  told  by  one  of  his  flock  that  many  of  the 
younger  members  of  his  church  were  ready  to  go 
with  him  in  his  views  and  practice,  though  one  lady 
came  to  him  after  the  meeting  and  said,  "  You 
have  taken  my  Lord  away  and  I  know  not  where 
you  have  laid  Him,"  and  I  have  read  the  sorrowful 
entries  at  this  time  in  the  diary  of  one  of  the  most 
earnest  of  the  younger  worshippers.  The  church 
refused  to  allow  him  to  make  the  changes  he  pro 
posed  or  discontinue  his  part  of  the  rite. 

During  the  time  while  the  question  of  his  rela 
tions  with  the  church  was  under  the  consideration 
of  the  committee,  he  went  alone  to  the  mountains, 
to  consider  his  duty.  He  very  fairly  stated  to 
himself  the  other  side  of  the  question,  how  for  his 
aversion  to  a  form  in  which  he  had  been  brought 
up,  and  which  usage  and  association  had  endeared 
to  many  of  the  best  of  his  flock,  he  was  about  to 
break  the  strong  tie  that  bound  him  to  his  people 
and  enabled  him,  after  painful  years  of  prepara 
tion,  to  be  a  light  and  help  and  comfort  to  them. 
But  to  preserve  this  bond,  he  must  at  the  very 
altar,  where  all  thought  should  be  highest  and  all 
action  truest,  do  violence  to  his  spiritual  instincts 
and  smother  his  convictions  and  admit  that  form 
could  outweigh  spirit.  Whether  or  not  the  lower 
considerations  of  a  pleasant  and  settled  sphere  of 
usefulness  presented  themselves,  this  was  enough, 
and  he  came  down  from  the  mountain  having  said, 


42  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,"  to  meet  his  people, 
explained  very  simply  to  them  his  belief  that  the 
Scriptural  observance  had  not  the  claims  of  au 
thority,  for  their  satisfaction,  but  frankly  stating 
that  his  own  objection  was  not  of  texts,  but  the 
witness  against  the  rite  in  his  own  breast,  and  he 
resigned  his  charge.  He  and  his  people  parted  in 
all  kindness. 

He  had  said  in  his  journal  before  this  time  :  "  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  to  be  a  good  min 
ister  it  was  necessary  to  leave  the  ministry."  Yet 
this  could  not  be  done  without  the  wrench  being 
felt ;  and  though  he  had  for  the  last  years  been  a 
stronger  man,  now  his  health  began  to  fail  again, 
and  in  November  he  felt  that  he  must  go  again  in 
search  of  strength.  He  was  tempted  at  first  to  go 
to  the  West  Indies  whither  his  brother  Edward, 
worn  out  and  with  life  in  peril  through  his  untir 
ing,  ambitious  labors,  had  gone  to  recover,  if  he 
might,  but  some  wish  to  see  the  ancient  cities  and  a 
stronger  desire  to  meet  a  few  men  who  had  moved 
him  by  their  works,  namely,  Coleridge,  Landor, 
Wordsworth,  and  chiefly  Carlyle,  led  him  eastward, 
and  on  Christmas  Day,  1832,  he  sailed  out  of  Bos 
ton  Bay  on  a  brig  bound  for  Malta.  The  winter 
voyage  of  nearly  six  weeks  in  a  small  vessel  at 
once  refreshed  him ;  he  always  throve  upon  phys 
ical  hardship,  and  took  a  certain  pleasure  in  it, 
though  he  did  not  like  the  sea,  and  always  main- 


ROME.  43 

tained  that  it  was  only  attractive  where  it  met  the 
land.  He  went  to  Sicily,  then  Naples,  Rome  and 
Florence. 

From  Rome  he  writes  to  his  Aunt  Mary :  — 

"  Did  they  tell  you  that  I  went  away  from  home 
a  wasted,  peevish  invalid?  Well,  I  have  been 
mending  ever  since,  and  am  now  in  better  health 
than  I  remember  to  have  enjoyed  since  I  was  in 
college.  How  should  one  be  sick  in  Rome  ?  " 

Yet  he  found  that,  as  he  had  foreseen,  he  could 
not  leave  his  load  behind.  He  was  content  to  spend 
some  months  in  Europe,  as  one  makes  up  one's 
mind  to  go  to  a  hospital  for  just  the  needful  weeks 
and  no  more.  He  saw  what  he  must,  and  but  for 
his  impatience  was  fitted  to  enjoy,  but  felt  that  his 
work  lay  in  another  hemisphere.  With  his  life's 
work  in  the  New  World  hardly  begun,  he  was  in 
no  mood  for  crumbling  palaces,  mellow  paintings 
and  bygone  Greek  art.  Yet  many  years  later  he 
wrote  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Bradford,  at  that  time 
abroad :  — 

"How  gladly  I  would  help  you  see  London, 
which  you  like  not  alone !  How  gladly  go  to  Paris 
and  to  Rome.  I  seem  to  have  been  driven  away 
from  Rome  by  unseen  angel  with  sword  or  whip, 
for  nothing  would  have  served  me  so  well  and 
dearly  as  Rome,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to 
recall  any  reason  I  had  for  returning.  But  now  to 
go  were  very  different." 


44  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

He  was  lonely  and  hungering  for  friendships 
with  men  worthy  of  the  time.  That  to  find  such 
was  his  main  desire  appears  in  all  his  writings  then, 
and  his  trust  that  they  would  be  given  him,  com 
plete. 

"  Alone  in  Rome  ?    Why  Rome  is  lonely  too  ;  — 
Besides,  you  need  not  be  alone  ;  the  soul 
Shall  have  society  of  its  own  rank. 
Be  great,  be  true,  and  all  the  Scipios, 
The  Catos,  the  wise  patriots  of  Rome 
Shall  flock  to  you,  and  tarry  by  your  side, 
And  comfort  you  with  their  high  company. 

You  must  be  like  them  if  you  desire  them. 

And  ever  in  the  strife  of  your  own  thoughts 
Obey  the  noble  impulse  :  that  is  Rome  : 

Wait  then,  sad  friend,  wait  in  majestic  peace 

The  hour  of  Heaven.     Generously  trust 

Thy  fortune's  web  to  the  beneficent  hand 

That  until  now  has  put  his  world  in  fee 

To  thee.     He  watches  for  thee  still.     His  love 

Broods  over  thee,  and  as  God  lives  in  heaven 

However  long  thou  walkest  solitary  — 

The  hour  of  Heaven  shall  come,  the  man  appear." 

He  went  to  Florence  and  saw  Walter  Savage 
Lanclor,  and  took  much  pleasure  in  the  company 
and  guidance  of  Horatio  Greenough  the  sculptor. 
But  in  England  were  the  main  magnets.  He 
passed  through  France,  making  but  short  stay  in 


ENGLAND.  45 

Paris,  and  crossed  the  Channel  in  July,  to  seek  out 
Wordsworth  and  Carlyle  :  — 

"  Am  I  who  have  hung  over  their  works  in  my 
chamber  at  home  not  to  see  those  men  in  the  flesh 
and  thank  them  and  interchange  some  thoughts 
with  them  when  I  am  passing  their  very  doors  ?  " 

He  had  letters,  but  he  did  not  often  present 
them.  He  told  me  that  his  custom  was  when  he 
felt  a  wish  to  know  any  person,  to  write  him  a  let 
ter  when  he  was  in  the  neighborhood,  that  the  re 
ceiver  might  judge  by  it  whether  he  shared  the 
wish  for  acquaintance  and  could  then  bid  the 
stranger  come  if  there  seemed  grounds  where  their 
sympathies  could  meet.  I  remember  that  a  push 
ing  and  vain  young  lecturer,  who  came  to  Concord, 
asked  an  acquaintance  with  whom  he  stayed  for  an 
introduction  to  Mr.  Emerson,  who  had  attended  his 
lecture  the  night  before.  While  his  friend,  having 
presented  him,  went  out  to  fasten  his  horse,  the 
young  man  asked  my  father  to  "endorse  him,"  as 
he  expressed  it, "  as  a  lecturer,"  saying  that  various 
noted  literary  men  had  done  so.  "  My  young 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Emerson,  "  do  you  not  know  that 
there  is  but  one  person  who  can  recommend  you  ?  " 
"  Why,  who  is  that,  sir  ?  "  "  Yourself." 

With  difficulty  Emerson  found  Carlyle  buried 
among  the  lonely  hills  and  moors  of  Nithsdale,  but 
the  meeting  was  a  white  day  in  the  lives  of  both, 
and  then  began  a  friendship  that  remained  strong 


46  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

to  the  end.  In  "  English  Traits  "  and  elsewhere 
my  father  has  told  of  the  visits  to  the  few  people 
whose  writings  at  that  time  appealed  to  him,  and 
his  good  friend  in  England,  Mr.  Alexander  Ire 
land,  and  Mr.  Conway  have  told  in  their  books  the 
story  of  the  incidents  of  this  visit.  I  will  note  here 
that  he  preached  in  Edinburgh  in  the  Unitarian 
Chapel. 

He  had  found  the  friend  he  came  on  faith  to  see ; 
he  loved  him  and  hoped  all  things  from  his  strength 
and  truth,  in  spite  of  the  extravagant  expression 
and  doleful  views  which  he  tried  to  believe  he 
would  outgrow,  but  still  there  was  a  disappoint 
ment,  and  on  the  voyage  home  he  notes  that  he 
had  met  men  of  far  less  power  than  those  he  had 
met  abroad  who  had  greater  insight  into  religious 
truth.  In  his  journal  he  wrote  :  — 

"  I  am  very  glad  my  travelling  is  done.  A  man 
not  old  feels  himself  too  old  to  be  a  vagabond.  The 
people  at  their  work,  the  people  whose  vocations  I 
interrupt  by  my  letters  of  introduction  accuse  me 
by  their  looks  for  leaving  my  business  to  hinder 
theirs."  He  felt  it  was  for  the  New  World  men  to 
answer  the  Old  World  men  what  the  New  Eeligion 
was  to  be  for  which  mankind  was  waiting  and  the 
hour  ripe.  His  strength  had  returned,  and  this 
with  the  strong  necessity  which  he  felt  to  do  what 
he  might  to  answer  this  question  raised  his  spirits. 

He  reached  Boston  October  9th  and  wrote  :  "  It 


RETURN  HOME.  47 

is  the  true  heroism  and  the  true  wisdom,  Hope. 
The  wise  are  always  cheerful.  The  reason  is  (and 
it  is  a  blessed  reason)  that  the  eye  sees  that  the 
ultimate  issues  of  all  things  are  good."  He  took 
lodgings,  wrote  down  religiously  the  thought  that 
each  day  brought,  and  preached  as  opportunity 
offered. 

He  had  officiated  in  New  Bedford  before  in  Dr. 
Dewey's  pulpit,  and  now  was  invited  there  again 
to  preach  for  several  Sundays.  This  visit  was 
memorable  to  him,  for  he  came  intimately  in  con 
tact  with  the  more  advanced  and  spiritually-minded 
Quakers  and  was  strongly  influenced  by  the  con 
versation  with  Miss  Mary  Rotch,  one  of  their 
saints.  He  heard  the  extreme  doctrine  of  Obedi 
ence  as  accepted  by  the  Friends,  submission  of  the 
soul,  renunciation  of  the  will,  and  then  trusting 
implicitly  the  divine  motion  in  the  breast. 

NEW  BEDFORD,  February  12,  1834. 
Journal.  "  The  sublime  religion  of  Miss  Rotch 
yesterday.  She  was  very  much  disciplined,  she 
said,  in  the  years  of  Quaker  dissensions,  and 
driven  inward,  driven  home,  to  find  an  anchor, 
until  she  learned  to  have  no  choice,  to  acquiesce 
without  understanding  the  reason  when  she  found 
an  obstruction  to  any  particular  course  of  acting. 
She  objected  to  having  this  spiritual  direction 
called  an  impression,  or  an  intimation,  or  an 


48  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

oracle.     It  was  none  of  them.     It  was  so  simple  it 
could  hardly  be  spoken  of." 

This  doctrine  he  had  arrived  at  by  another  path, 
but  spirit  and  not  form  was  what  he  had  been  striv 
ing  for  in  public  worship,  and  the  simple  worship 
of  the  more  liberal  Quakers  pleased  him  much. 

Not  long  after  this,  his  cousin,  the  Rev.  David 
Green  Haskins,  tells  that  when  asked  by  him  about 
his  sympathy  with  Swedenborgian  ideas,  and  to  de 
fine  his  religious  position,  Mr.  Emerson  said  very 
slowly,  "  I  believe  I  am  more  of  a  Quaker  than 
anything  else.  I  believe  in  the  '  still  small  voice,' 
and  that  voice  is  Christ  within  us." 

The  New  Bedford  Unitarians  asked  him  to  be 
their  settled  pastor,  Dr.  Dewey  having  left  them, 
and  to  this  he  inclined,  but  told  them  that  prayer 
was  too  sacred  an  act  to  be  done  perfunctorily  at 
stated  times,  whether  the  Spirit  came  or  no,  and 
that  if  he  came  it  must  be  understood  that  that 
part  of  the  service  must  be,  or  not,  as  he  was  im 
pelled  at  the  moment.  To  these  terms  the  parish 
objected  and  he  declined  the  offer.  He  lectured 
in  Boston  that  winter  and  preached  also  at  Plym 
outh,  and  there  met  Miss  Lydia  Jackson,  his  future 
wife. 

The  Lyceum,  an  institution  then  rather  of  cul 
ture  than  of  amusement,  was  being  formed  in  most 
of  the  towns  and  cities  of  New  England,  and 


THE  NEW  LIFE.  49 

spreading  rapidly  westward  and  southward.  The 
freedom  of  its  platform  giving  an  opportunity  for 
the  widest  range  and  frankest  expression  of  opin 
ion  became  more  and  more  attractive  to  the 
preacher  who,  on  leaving  the  pulpit,  had  told  his 
people  that  he  should  always  continue  to  teach  the 
truth  as  he  conceived  it,  and  he  soon  found  that 
people  would  hear  approvingly,  and  even  welcome, 
doctrine  arriving  in  secular  garb  which  they  felt 
committed  against  if  it  came  clothed  in  ecclesias 
tical  phrase  from  the  pulpit.  He  wrote  about  this 
time:  — 

"  I  please  myself  with  contemplating  the  felicity 
of  my  present  situation  —  may  it  last !  It  seems 
to  me  singularly  free,  and  invites  me  to  every  virtue 
and  to  great  improvement." 

He  now  felt  that  he  had  begun  to  learn  ;  through 
Nature  he  was  to  study  the  soul  and  God  ;  that 
this  must  be  done  in  the  solitude  of  the  country, 
and  he  longed  to  reestablish  a  home  and  bring  to 
it  his  mother  and  his  brothers  Edward  and  Charles, 
who  were  almost  a  part  of  himself.  William,  all 
too  early  called,  as  we  have  seen,  to  be  the  prop 
and  stay  of  the  family,  kept  school  for  several 
years,  studied  for  the  ministry  at  Gottingen  in 
Germany,  but  was  turned  by  honest  doubts  from 
the  profession  of  his  fathers.  There  is  an  excel 
lent  letter  written  by  him  to  Dr.  Eipley  in  Septem 
ber,  1830,  on  the  observance  of  the  Lord's  Supper, 


50  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

in  which  he  sets  forth  very  clearly  but  respectfully 
the  argument  that  it  was  not  intended  to  be  oblig 
atory.  This  strongly  suggests  the  source  of  the 
reasons  set  forth  by  his  brother  later  for  the  sat 
isfaction  of  the  Second  Church,  although  with 
Waldo  his  instinct,  rather  than  arguments  of  au 
thority,  dictated  his  course.  William  chose  the 
profession  of  Law,  which  he  exercised  with  fidelity 
and  honor  in  New  York  for  many  years.  In  his 
busy  life  he  always  cherished  his  scholarly  tastes, 
and  he  and  his  brother  Waldo  in  days  of  prosper 
ity  and  adversity  stood  by  one  another  most  loyally. 
My  father  had  a  day-dream  of  settling  in  Berk 
shire  ;  felt  that  the  country  life  would  reestablish 
the  health  of  his  younger  brothers,  to  whom  he  was 
now  in  position  to  offer  a  home,  and  that  they  per 
haps  might  together  edit  and  write  a  review,  and 
he  pleased  himself  with  the  thought  of  the  varied 
talent  that  the  four  brothers  could  combine  upon 
the  problems  of  the  day,  for  William  in  New  York 
found  time  from  his  law  work  to  write  lectures  and 
reviews.  But  Edward  bravely  stayed  at  his  work 
in  the  island,  Charles  had  begun  the  study  of  law 
in  Concord  in  the  office  of  Samuel  Hoar,  Esq.,  and 
was  forming  yet  stronger  ties  to  Concord,  and  for 
Waldo,  really  dependent  on  the  stimulus  of  occa 
sional  access  to  cultivated  persons,  to  the  Athe 
naeum  and  College  libraries  and  such  works  of  art 
as  were  then  to  be  seen  in  New  England,  and,  re- 


EDWARD  BLISS  EMERSON.  51 

quiring  also  a  public  for  his  lectures,  Berkshire 
was  too  remote. 

But  here  at  hand  was  an  ancestral  town,  suffi 
ciently  remote,  yet  near  enough  to  the  city  for  his 
needs,  its  river  meadows  having  for  him  happy 
associations  of  his  boyhood.  The  presence  of  his 
brother  Charles  turned  the  scale,  and  in  the  autumn 
of  1834  he  came  with  his  mother,  and  they  were 
received  as  boarders  at  the  Manse.  They  came  in 
sadness,  for,  only  a  few  days  earlier,  letters  had 
come  from  Porto  Rico  telling  of  the  death  of  Ed 
ward  Bliss  Emerson. 

Of  Edward,  his  next  older  brother  had  a  roman 
tic  admiration,  for  he  saw  in  him  qualities  that  he 
missed  in  himself.  Edward  was  handsome,  grace 
ful,  had  a  military  carriage  and  had  been  an 
officer  in  the  college  company ;  he  had  confidence 
and  executive  ability,  great  ambition  and  an  un 
sleeping,  goading  conscience  that  never  would  let 
him  spare  himself.  He  was  eloquent,  but  his  speech 
had  a  lofty  and  almost  scornful  tone.  My  father 
said :  "  Edward  and  I  as  boys  were  thrown  much 
together  in  our  studies,  for  he  stood  always  at  the 
top  of  his  (a  younger)  class,  and  I  low  in  mine." 
He  had,  while  studying  in  the  office  of  Daniel 
Webster  with  the  commendation  of  his  chief,  of 
whose  sons  he  was  the  tutor,  lost  his  reason  for  a 
time  through  years  of  overwork  and  privation,  and 
though  he  recovered  it,  his  main  spring  seemed 


52  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

broken,  and  he  went  to  the  West  Indies  and  filled 
a  place  as  clerk  in  a  commercial  house,  hoping  to 
regain  his  power. 

w  I  see  him  with  superior  smile, 
Hunted  by  Sorrow's  grisly  train, 
In  lands  remote,  in  toil  and  pain 
With  angel  patience  labor  on 
With  the  high  port  he  wore  erewhile, 
When  foremost  of  the  youthful  band, 
The  prizes  in  all  lists  he  won, 
Nor  bate  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope." 

Mr.  Emerson  would  have  considered  it  a  fortu 
nate  conjunction  of  the  stars  that  brought  his  fiery 
and  affectionate  sibyl,  Aunt  Mary,  in  her  nomadic 
perigrinations  from  one  part  of  New  England  to 
another  (for  she  was  too  concentrated  a  bitter-cor 
dial  to  be  ever  taken  for  a  long  time  at  any  one 
boarding  place),  at  this  time  to  Concord. 

"  CONCORD,  November  24, 1834. 

"  Aunt  Mary  boards  in  the  village  and  keeps  up 
a  surprisingly  good  understanding  with  the  people 
of  this  world,  considering  her  transcendental  way 
of  living.  Yesterday  she  came  here  with  shabbiest 
horse  and  chaise,  which  she  says  she  saw  standing 
at  the  door  where  she  was  shopping,  and,  having 
found  out  whom  it  belonged  to,  she  asked  the  man  to 
let  her  go  and  ride  whilst  he  was  making  purchases, 
for  she  wanted  to  go  up  to  Dr.  Ripley's.  The  man, 


MARY  MOODY  EMERSON.  53 

I  suppose,  demurred,  so  she  told  him  she  was  his 
own  townswoman,  born  within  a  mile  of  him,  and 
finally,  she  says,  when  she  left  him,  in  the  gig,  he 
told  her  '  not  to  hurry.'  But  so  she  lives  from  day 
to  day." 

Once  she  even  impressed  the  horse  of  a  man  who 
came  to  call  the  physician  at  whose  house  she 
boarded,  and  rode  sidewise  on  a  man's  saddle  to 
the  Manse,  arrayed  in  her  dimity  shroud,  which, 
tired  of  waiting  for  death,  she  used  as  a  day-gown, 
and  over  it,  on  this  occasion,  threw  a  scarlet  shawl 
which  somebody  had  laid  down  in  the  entry. 

But  these  constitutional  oddities  of  this  strange 
enthusiast  must  not  so  far  draw  attention  that  her 
achievements  in  culture  and  piety  be  forgotten, 
and  the  wonder  of  them  in  face  of  the  forlorn  cir 
cumstances  of  her  rearing.  It  is  not  easy  to  read 
unmoved  these  sentences  of  her  diary :  — 

"  My  oddities  were  never  designed  —  effect  of 
an  uncalculating  constitution  at  first,  then  through 
isolation.  .  .  .  It  is  so  universal  with  all  classes  to 
avoid  me  that  I  blame  nobody.  .  .  .  As  a  traveller 
enters  some  fine  palace  and  finds  all  the  doors 
closed  and  he  only  allowed  the  use  of  some  ave 
nues  and  passages,  so  have  I  wandered  from  the 
cradle  over  the  apartments  of  the  social  affections 
or  the  cabinets  of  natural  or  moral  philosophy,  the 
recesses  of  ancient  and  modern  lore.  All  say,  — 


54  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Forbear  to  enter  the  pales  of  the  initiated  by  birth, 
wealth,  talents  and  patronage.  I  submit  with  de 
light,  for  it  is  the  echo  of  a  decree  from  above ;  and 
from  the  highway  hedges  where  I  get  lodging  and 
from  the  rays  which  burst  forth  when  the  crowd  are 
entering  these  noble  saloons,  whilst  I  stand  at  the 
doors,  I  get  a  pleasing  vision  which  is  an  earnest  of 
the  interminable  skies  where  the  mansions  are  pre 
pared  for  the  poor.  .  .  .  Should  He  make  me  a  blot 
on  the  fair  face  of  his  Creation,  I  should  rejoice 
in  his  will.  .  .  .  Yes,  love  thee  and  all  thou  dost 
though  thou  sheddest  frost  and  darkness  on  every 
path  of  mine." 

Settled  in  the  little  room  in  the  south  gable  of 
the  Manse  my  father  wrote  in  his  journal :  — 

"  CONCORD,  November  15,  1834. 

"Hail  to  the  quiet  fields  of  my  fathers.  Not 
wholly  unattended  by  supernatural  friendship  and 
favor  let  me  come  hither.  Bless  my  purposes  as 
they  are  simple  and  virtuous.  Coleridge's  fine  let 
ter  l  comes  in  aid  of  the  very  thoughts  I  was  re 
volving.  And  be  it  so.  Henceforth  I  design  not 
to  utter  any  speech,  poem  or  book  that  is  not 
entirely  and  peculiarly  my  work.  I  will  say  at 
public  lectures  and  the  like,  those  things  which  I 
have  meditated  for  their  own  sake  and  not  for  the 
first  time  with  a  view  to  that  occasion." 

1  In  London  Literary  Gazette,  Sept.  13,  1834. 


THE   CONCORD  HOME.  55 

That  winter  he  lectured  in  Boston  and  preached 
in  various  places,  among  others  in  Plymouth,  and 
there  became  engaged  to  Miss  Lydia  Jackson,  an 
event  which  made  it  the  more  necessary  for  him 
to  find  a  home,  and  though  she  had  hope  that  he 
might  come  to  Plymouth,  he  writes  in  February 
that  he  shall  hardly  get  away  from  Concord  and 
must  win  her  to  love  it. 

He  thought  at  first  of  buying  the  house  on  the 
spur  of  Punkatasset  towards  Dr.  Ripley's  (since 
owned  by  the  late  Captain  Richard  Barrett),  but, 
a  good  opportunity  occurring,  he  purchased  a  new 
and  very  well  built  house  and  small  barn  with  two 
acres  of  land,  the  rather  unattractive  situation  of 
which  was  in  a  measure  offset  by  being  on  the 
stage-road  to  Boston,  and  also,  while  near  the  vil 
lage,  being  only  divided  by  a  few  fields  from  pine- 
woods  and  hills,  soon  to  have  spiritual  values  to 
him,  and  from  the  lonely  fields  of  which  he  sings 
in  the  Dirge. 

Nor  was  the  human  interest  lacking.  As  a  boy 
and  youth  in  his  visits  with  his  mother  and  broth 
ers  to  his  grandmother,  daughter  of  Rev.  Daniel 
Bliss  and  widow  of  Rev.  William  Emerson,  then 
the  wife  of  Dr.  Ripley,  he  had  necessarily  met  at 
the  Manse  the  leading  citizens  of  the  town  when 
they  called  upon  his  step-grandfather,  the  venera 
ble  clergyman,  and  there  and  in  his  rides  with  the 
latter  gentleman,  when  in  his  chaise  he  visited  his 


56  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

parishioners  in  their  seasons  of  joy  and  sorrow,  he 
learned  the  histories  of  the  families  who  lived  in 
the  scattered  farms  of  the  river  town,  many  of 
whom  in  the  sixth  generation  still  tilled  the  hold 
ing  originally  granted  their  ancestor.  The  popu 
lation  was  more  stable  in  those  days ;  there  was 
absolutely  no  foreign  element,  except  the  descend 
ants  of  the  negro  slaves  of  an  earlier  period. 

Dr.  Ripley  held  among  the  people  of  the  town 
a  position  by  right  of  his  office,  his  long  residence 
and  his  virtues  that  it  is  hard  for  a  person  who  has 
no  memory  of  those  days  to  understand.  In  the 
spirit  of  his  Puritan  predecessors  he  felt  himself 
like  Moses  in  the  wilderness,  a  shepherd  and  judge 
of  the  people,  and  that  he  had  unquestionable  right 
to  know  about  their  temporal  and  spiritual  affairs, 
and  in  the  true  Hebrew  Spirit  of  the  early  New 
Englanders  he  pointed  out  to  his  young  kinsman 
the  recompense  in  this  world  of  the  deeds  of  the 
men,  even  to  children's  children. 

Thus  when  Mr.  Emerson  moved  his  household 
gods  to  the  town  which  was  thereafter  to  be  his 
home,  it  was  in  a  sense  his  home  already,  with  per 
sonal  and  ancestral  ties  for  him  and  he  knew  its 
daily  and  its  traditional  life,  and  his  being  chosen 
to  review  its  Past  and  speak  the  word  of  good 
omen  for  the  Future  on  the  day  when  the  Town 
celebrated  the  completing  of  the  second  century 
since  its  planting,  was  not  like  the  calling  in  a 


CONCORD   ORATION.  57 

stranger  among  the  people.  This  choice  was  a 
pleasant  welcome  to  him  from  them,  and  it  was 
a  happy  circumstance  for  him  (the  nature  of  his 
pursuits  obliging  him  to  live  a  little  apart)  that 
his  task  in  its  preparation  and  its  fulfilment 
strengthened  and  drew  closer  the  bonds  of  interest 
and  affection  that  bound  him  to  his  new  home.  He 
made  diligent  search  among  the  ancient  and  almost 
undecipherable  town  records,  he  visited  the  old 
villagers,  survivors  of  Concord  Fight,  read  the  his- 
torico-religious  chronicles  of  the  early  New  Eng 
land  writers,  and  found  the  notes  of  the  events  of 
Concord's  part  in  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution 
in  the  diary  of  his  grandfather,  her  young  and 
patriotic  minister  in  those  days. 

On  Saturday,  September  12th,  the  celebration 
occurred.  Mr.  Emerson  gave  his  oration,  his  kins 
man,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Ripley  being  one  of  the  chap 
lains  of  the  day,  and  his  brother  Charles  Chauncy 
Emerson  one  of  the  marshals. 

He  passed  Sunday  with  his  relatives  at  the 
Manse,  and  on  Monday,  the  14th,  drove  in  a  chaise 
to  Plymouth,  where  he  was  married  in  the  evening 
to  Lydia  Jackson,  at  her  home,  the  old  Winslow 
Mansion  on  North  Street,  and  the  next  morning  set 
forth  in  the  chaise  again  and  brought  his  bride 
before  sunset  to  their  new  home  in  Concord,  a 
substantial  house  where  the  newer  turnpike  left 
the  "  Great  Road"  to  Boston. 


58  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Mr.  Emerson  never  repented  this  choice  of  a 
home  which  proved  exactly  fitted  for  his  purpose  ; 
gave  privacy  and  company  enough,  and  the  habit 
of  the  town  favored  the  simple  living  which  he 
valued. 

To  the  happy  early  association  with  the  hill  by 
the  Manse  and  the  Great  Fields  and  Meadows, 
were  now  to  be  added  new  formed  ones  with  the 
low  hills  on  his  southeastern  horizon  clothed  with 
a  continuous  wood  which  hid  Walden  among  its 
oaks  and  dark  pines. 

He  went  to  work,  as  I  shall  presently  tell,  in  the 
garden  below  his  house,  but  the  sight  of  the  great 
garden  across  the  brook  but  half  a  mile  off  was 
strong  to  lure  him  away.  "Look  at  the  sunset 
when  you  are  distant  half  a  mile  from  the  vil 
lage,  and  I  fear  you  will  forget  your  engagement 
to  the  tea-party.  That  tint  has  a  dispersive  power 
not  only  of  memory,  but  of  duty.  But  the  city 
lives  by  remembering."  The  garden  at  home  was 
often  a  hindrance  and  care,  but  he  soon  bought  an 
estate  which  brought  him  unmingled  pleasure,  first 
the  grove  of  white  pines  on  the  shore  of  Walden, 
and  later  the  large  tract  on  the  farther  shore  run 
ning  up  to  a  rocky  pinnacle  from  which  he  could 
look  down  on  the  Pond  itself,  and  on  the  other  side 
to  the  Lincoln  woods  and  farms,  Nobscot  blue  in 
the  South  away  beyond  Fairhaven  and  the  river 
gleaming  in  the  afternoon  sun.  It  is  of  this  that 
he  wrote :  — 


WALDEN  LEDGE.  59 

"  If  I  could  put  my  woods  in  song 
And  tell  what 's  there  enjoyed, 
All  men  would  to  my  garden  throng 
And  leave  the  cities  void. 

«  My  garden  is  a  forest  ledge 

Which  older  forests  bound  ; 
The  banks  slope  down  to  the  blue  lake-edge, 
Then  plunge  to  depths  profound. 

"  Self-sown  my  stately  garden  grows; 

The  wind,  and  wind-blown  seed, 
Cold  April  rain  and  colder  snows 
My  hedges  plant  and  feed."1 

Brought  up  mainly  near  the  city,  with  mind  filled 
in  youth  with  such  images  of  nature  as  poets  of 
an  artificial  age  and  a  long  cultivated  island  had 
reflected  in  their  more  or  less  distorted  mirrors, 
he  had  come  to  study  Nature  at  the  fountain-head, 
and  found,  as  he  had  suspected  or  he  would  not 
have  come,  that  all  was  new. 

1838. 

Journal.  "  The  American  artist  who  would  carve 
a  wood-god  and  who  was  familiar  with  the  forest  in 
Maine,  where  enormous  fallen  pine-trees  '  cumber 
the  forest  floor,'  where  huge  mosses  depending  from 
the  trees,  and  the  mass  of  the  timber  give  a  savage 
and  haggard  strength  to  the  grove,  would  produce 
a  very  different  statue  from  the  sculptor  who  only 

1  MY  GARDEN  (in  Poems,  Riverside  Edition,  p.  197)  and  WAL 
DEN  (see  Appendix  of  same  volume,  p.  207  )  were  originally  one 
poem. 


60  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

knew  a  European  woodland,  —  the  tasteful  Greek, 
for  example." 

"  It  seems  as  if  we  owed  to  literature  certain  im 
pressions  concerning  nature  which  nature  did  not 
justify.  By  Latin  and  English  Poetry,  I  was  born 
and  bred  in  an  oratorio  of  praises  of  nature,  flow 
ers,  birds  and  mountains,  sun  and  moon,  and  now 
I  find  I  know  nothing  of  any  of  these  fine  things, 
that  I  have  conversed  with  the  merest  surface  and 
show  of  them  all ;  and  of  their  essence  or  of  their 
history  know  nothing.  Now  furthermore  I  melan 
choly  discover  that  nobody,  —  that  not  these  chant 
ing  poets  themselves,  —  know  anything  sincere  of 
these  handsome  natures  they  so  commended ;  that 
they  contented  themselves  with  the  passing  chirp 
of  a  bird  or  saw  his  spread  wing  in  the  sun  as 
he  fluttered  by,  they  saw  one  morning  or  two  in 
their  lives,  and  listlessly  looked  at  sunsets  and 
repeated  idly  these  few  glimpses  in  their  song. 

"  But  if  I  go  into  the  forest,  I  find  all  new  and 
undescribed;  nothing  has  been  told  me.  The 
screaming  of  wild  geese  was  never  heard  ;  the  thin 
note  of  the  titmouse  and  his  bold  ignoring  of  the 
bystander ;  the  fall  of  the  flies  that  patter  on  the 
leaves  like  rain  ;  the  angry  hiss  of  some  bird  that 
crepitated  at  me  yesterday ;  the  formation  of  tur 
pentine,  and  indeed  any  vegetation  and  animation, 
any  and  all  are  alike  undescribed.  Every  man 
that  goes  into  the  woods  seems  to  be  the  first  man 


WOODLAND.  61 

that  ever  went  into  a  wood.  His  sensations  and 
his  world  are  new.  You  really  think  that  nothing 
can  be  said  about  morning  and  evening,  and  the 
fact  is,  morning  and  evening  have  not  yet  begun  to 
be  described. 

"  When  I  see  them  I  am  not  reminded  of  these 
Homeric  or  Miltoiiic  or  Shakspearian  or  Chauce 
rian  pictures,  but  I  feel  a  pain  of  an  alien  world,  or 
I  am  cheered  with  the  moist,  warm,  glittering,  bud 
ding  and  melodious  hour  that  takes  down  the  nar 
row  walls  of  my  soul  and  extends  its  pulsation  and 
life  to  the  very  horizon.  That  is  Morning ;  to 
cease  for  a  bright  hour  to  be  a  prisoner  of  this 
sickly  body  and  to  become  as  large  as  the  World." 

June,  1841. 

Journal.  "The  rock  seemed  good  to  me.  I 
think  we  can  never  afford  to  part  with  Matter. 
How  dear  and  beautiful  it  is  to  us.  As  water  to 
our  thirst  so  is  this  rock  to  our  eyes  and  hands 
and  feet.  .  .  .  What  refreshment,  what  health,  what 
magic  affinity,  ever  an  old  friend,  ever  like  a  dear 
friend  or  brother  when  we  chat  affectedly  with 
strangers  conies  in  this  honest  face,  whilst  we  prat 
tle  with  men,  and  takes  a  grave  liberty  with  us 
and  shames  us  out  of  our  nonsense. 

"  The  flowers  lately,  especially  when  I  see  for  the 
first  time  this  season  an  old  acquaintance,  —  a  gerar- 
dia,  a  lespedeza,  —  have  much  to  say  on  Life  and 


62  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Death.  'You  have  much  discussion,'  they  seem 
to  say,  on  '  Immortality.  Here  it  is :  here  are  we 
who  have  spoken  nothing  on  the  matter.'  And  as 
I  have  looked  from  this  lofty  rock  lately,  our 
human  life  seemed  very  short  beside  this  ever- 
renewing  race  of  trees.  '  Your  life,'  they  say,  '  is 
but  a  few  spinnings  of  this  top.  Forever  the  for 
est  germinates ;  forever  our  solemn  strength  renews 
its  knots  and  nodes  and  leaf-buds  and  radicles.' 
Grass  and  trees  have  no  individuals  as  man  counts 
individuality.  The  continuance  of  their  race  is 
Immortality ;  the  continuance  of  ours  is  not.  So 
they  triumph  over  us,  and  when  we  seek  to  answer 
or  to  say  something,  the  good  tree  holds  out  a 
bunch  of  green  leaves  in  your  face,  or  the  wood 
bine  five  graceful  fingers,  and  looks  so  stupid- 
beautiful,  so  innocent  of  all  argument,  that  our 
mouths  are  stopped  and  Nature  has  the  last  word." 
"  I  cannot  tell  why  I  should  feel  myself  such  a 
stranger  in  nature.  I  am  a  tangent  to  their  sphere, 
and  do  not  lie  level  with  this  beauty.  And  yet  the 
dictate  of  the  hour  is  to  forget  all  I  have  mis- 
learned;  to  cease  from  man,  and  to  cast  myself 
into  the  vast  mould  of  nature." 

In  a  letter  to  his  wife  just  before  their  marriage 
telling  why  he  preferred  to  live  in  Concord  rather 
than  in  Plymouth,  as  she  had  hoped,  he  says : 
"  Wherever  I  go,  therefore,  I  guard  and  study  my 


WOODLAND.  63 

rambling  propensities  with  a  care  that  is  ridiculous 
to  people,  but  to  me  is  the  care  of  my  high  call- 
ing." 

Strangers  wish  to  see  his  study ;  the  woods  were 
his  best  study  during  the  years  of  his  greatest 
spiritual  activity,  and  the  study,  so-called,  at  home, 
rather  his  library  and  writing  room.  In  months 
when  the  weather  allowed  he  went  often  to  the 
oracle  in  the  pine  wood  and  waited  with  joyful 
trust  for  the  thought. 

"In  dreamy  woods  what  forms  abound 
That  elsewhere  never  poet  found: 
Here  voices  ring,  and  pictures  burn, 
And  grace  on  grace  where'er  I  turn." 

There  he  felt  that  he  saw  things  healthily,  largely, 
in  their  just  order  and  perspective. 

He  sometimes  took  his  note-book  with  him,  but 
more  often  recorded  the  thought  on  his  return, 
striving  to  give  it  exactly  as  it  came  to  him,  for  he 
felt  that  men  were 

"  Pipes  through  which  the  breath  of  God  doth  blow 
A  momentary  music." 

Even  in  the  winter  storms  he  was  no  stranger  to 
the  woods,  and  the  early  journals  show  that  he 
liked  to  walk  alone  at  night  for  the  inspiration  he 

ever  found  in  the  stars. 

January,  1841. 

Journal.  "  All  my  thoughts  are  foresters.  I  have 
scarce  a  day-dream  on  which  the  breath  of  the 


64  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

pines  has  not  blown,  and  their  shadows  waved. 
Shall  I  not  therefore  call  my  little  book  Forest 
Essays?" 

All  through  his  life  he  kept  a  journal.  On  the 
first  leaf  of  that  for  1837  he  wrote :  — 

"  This  book  is  my  savings'  bank.  I  grow  richer 
because  I  have  somewhere  to  deposit  my  earnings, 
and  fractions  are  worth  more  to  me  because  cor 
responding  fractions  are  waiting  here  that  shall  be 
made  integers  by  their  addition." 

The  thoughts  thus  received  and  garnered  in  his 
journals  were  later  indexed,  and  a  great  part  of 
them  reappeared  in  his  published  works.  They 
were  religiously  set  down  just  as  they  came,  in  no 
order  except  chronological,  but  later  they  were 
grouped,  enlarged  or  pruned,  illustrated,  worked 
into  a  lecture  or  discourse,  and  after  having  in  this 
capacity  undergone  repeated  testing  and  rearrang 
ing,  were  finally  carefully  sifted  and  more  rigidly 
pruned  and  were  printed  as  essays.  Some  one  said 
to  him,  "You  take  out  all  the  most  interesting 
parts"  (anecdotes  and  illustrations  used  in  the  lec 
ture  room),  "  and  call  it  '  putting  on  their  Greek 
jackets.'  " 

But  he  did  not  go  to  Nature  as  the  Man  of 
Science  does,  nor  as  the  artist  often  does,  to  note 
mere  physical  facts  and  laws,  or  surface  beauty. 
He  saw  in  visible  nature  only  a  garment  giving  to 
wise  eyes  the  hint  of  what  lay  underneath :  — 


NATURE'S  TEACHING.  65 

"  Ever  the  words  of  the  gods  resound  ; 

But  the  porches  of  man's  ear 
Seldom  in  this  low  life's  round 

Are  unsealed,  that  they  may  hear. 
Wandering  voices  in  the  air 

And  murmurs  in  the  wold 
Speak  what  I  cannot  declare, 

Yet  cannot  aU  withhold." 

When  he  returned  to  his  room  and  took  up 
the  books  of  the  authors,  there  was  sometimes  a 
shock  felt.  He  tried  them  by  Nature's  great 
standards,  and  they  perhaps  were  found  wanting, 
but  in  the  cases  of  the  greatest  masters,  Nature  but 
illustrated  their  idealism  and  stamped  it  as  true. 
Not  only  among  the  poets  and  prophets,  but  (per 
haps  with  Goethe  as  a  bridge)  in  the  works  of 
the  advancing  men  of  Science,  —  John  Hunter,  La 
marck,  Lyell,  Owen,  Darwin,  —  he  was  quick  to 
recognize  a  great  thought,  and  his  own  spiritual 
studies  in  Concord  woods  made  him  meet  almost 
more  than  half  way  the  new  discoveries  of  pro 
gressive  improvement  with  unbounded  possibilities 
in  the  living  creature. 

But  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that,  if  the 
pine-tree,  from  the  moment  of  its  sprouting,  acted 
on  the  sand  and  rock  and  air  and  water,  subdued 
and  converted  them  into  beauty  and  strength  of 
the  pine-tree,  and  not  of  the  oak  or  vine  or  ani 
mal,  so  he  must  bear  his  relation  to  family,  village, 
country,  world,  and  react  with  these  surroundings 
for  beauty  and  virtue. 


66  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  Natural  History  by  itself  has  no  value ;  it  is 
like  a  single  sex,  but  marry  it  to  human  history, 
and  it  is  poetry.  Whole  floras,  all  Linnaeus's  or 
Buffon's  volumes  contain  not  one  line  of  poetry; 
but  the  meanest  natural  fact,  the  habit  of  a  plant, 
the  organs,  or  work,  or  noise  of  an  insect,  applied 
to  a  fact  in  human  nature,  is  beauty,  is  poetry,  is 
truth  at  once."  And  so  we  come  back  to  him  as 
citizen  and  head  of  a  family. 

Had  Mr.  Emerson  inherited  no  bond  to  Concord, 
he  would  on  principle  have  taken  a  householder's 
and  citizen's  interest  in  the  town  which  sheltered 
him.  The  house  in  Concord  had  a  small  garden 
on  the  south  side,  near  the  brook,  in  which  Mrs. 
Emerson  at  once  established  her  favorite  flowers, 
plants  and  seeds,  brought  from  the  Old  Colony, 
especially  her  favorites,  tulips  and  roses,  but  a  part 
of  it  was  reserved  for  vegetables  and  already  pro 
vided  with  a  few  apple,  pear  and  plum-trees,  and 
here  Mr.  Emerson  began  his  husbandry,  leaving 
his  study  to  do  a  little  work  there  every  day. 

Journal.  "  The  young  minister  did  very  well,  but 
one  day  he  married  a  wife,  and  after  that  he  no 
ticed  that  though  he  planted  corn  never  so  often, 
it  was  sure  to  come  up  tulips,  contrary  to  all  the 
laws  of  botany." 

In  the  spring  following  his  marriage  he  was 
sought  out  in  the  garden  by  one  of  his  townsmen 
who  came  to  notify  him  of  his  first  civic  honor, 


FIRST  TOWN  OFFICE.  67 

namely,  that  at  the  March-meeting  he  had  been 
elected  one  of  the  hog-reeves  for  the  ensuing  year. 
It  was  the  ancient  custom  of  the  town  to  consider 
the  newly-married  man  eligible  for  this  office. 
Probably  the  neighbor's  grounds  had  suffered  from 
some  stray  shote  that  morning,  and  he  came  to 
notify  the  proper  officer  that  he  must  do  his  duty. 

But  Mr.  Emerson  soon  began  to  assume  duties 
and  relations  towards  the  people  and  institutions 
of  the  town,  in  which  his  fitness  was  more  manifest. 
Mrs.  Emerson  and  his  brother  Charles,  who  made 
his  home  with  them,  both  had  large  classes  in  the 
Sunday-school,  then  a  comparatively  new  estab 
lishment,  and  felt  a  great  interest  in  them.  One 
of  the  scholars  of  Charles  tells  me  that  the  hour 
of  his  teaching  and  talk  with  them  was  the  one 
bright  spot  in  the  desperate  New  England  Sabbath 
of  those  days.  Mrs.  Emerson  used  to  have  meet 
ings  of  the  teachers  in  her  parlor  and  her  hus 
band  used  to  come  in  from  his  study  and  talk  with 
the  young  people. 

He  attended  church,  if  at  home,  during  the  first 
part  of  his  life  in  Concord,  certainly  during  the 
time  that  Dr.  Eipley  officiated  there,  and  occasion 
ally  supplied  the  pulpit,  though  he  seems  for  some 
reason  to  have  preferred  not  to  preach  in  Concord, 
although  for  some  time  after  settling  there  he  reg 
ularly  preached  in  East  Lexington,  and  often  ac 
cepted  invitations  to  preach  in  other  pulpits  until 
after  1840. 


68  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

My  mother  gives  this  anecdote  of  his  East  Lex 
ington  preaching,  which  should  be  preserved  as 
showing  his  entire  courage  and  sincerity.  He  was 
reading  one  of  the  old  sermons ;  suddenly  he 
stopped  and  said  quietly,  "  The  passage  which  I 
have  just  read  /  do  not  believe,  but  it  was  wrongly 
placed." 

1840. 

Journal.  "  What  is  more  alive  among  works  of 
art  than  our  plain  old  wooden  church,  built  a  cen 
tury  and  a  quarter  ago,  with  the  ancient  New  Eng 
land  spire.  I  pass  it  at  night  and  stand  and  listen 
to  the  beats  of  the  clock  like  heart-beats ;  not 
sounding,  as  Elizabeth  Hoar  well  observed,  so  much 
like  tickings,  as  like  a  step.  It  is  the  step  of 
Time.  You  catch  the  sound  first  by  looking  at 
the  clock  face.  And  then  you  see  this  wooden 
tower  rising  thus  alone,  but  stable  and  aged,  toward 
the  midnight  stars.  It  has  affiance  and  privilege 
with  them.  Not  less  than  the  marble  cathedral  it 
had  its  origin  in  sublime  aspirations,  in  the  august 
religion  of  man.  Not  less  than  those  stars  to 
which  it  points,  it  began  to  be  in  the  soul." 

"At  church  to-day  I  felt  how  unequal  is  this 
match  of  words  against  things.  Cease,  O  thou  un 
authorized  talker,  to  prate  of  consolation,  and  res 
ignation,  and  spiritual  joys,  in  neat  and  balanced 
sentences.  For  I  know  these  men  who  sit  below, 


THE   VILLAGE   CHURCH.  69 

and  on  the  hearing  of  these  words  look  up.  Hush 
quickly !  for  care  and  calamity  are  things  to  them. 
There  is  Mr.  A.,  the  shoemaker,  whose  daughter 
has  gone  mad.  And  he  is  looking  up  through  his 
spectacles  to  hear  what  you  can  offer  for  his  case. 
Here  is  my  friend,  whose  scholars  are  all  leaving 
him,  and  he  knows  not  what  to  turn  his  hand  to 
next.  Here  is  my  wife  who  has  come  to  church  in 
hope  of  being  soothed  and  strengthened  after  being 
wounded  by  the  sharp  tongue  of  a  slut  in  her  house. 
Here  is  the  stage-driver  who  has  the  jaundice  and 
cannot  get  well.  Here  is  B.  who  failed  last  week, 
and  he  is  looking  up.  O  speak  things,  then,  or 
hold  thy  tongue." 

"  I  delight  in  our  pretty  church  music  and  to 
hear  that  poor  slip  of  a  girl,  without  education, 
without  thought,  yet  show  this  fine  instinct  in  her 
singing,  so  that  every  note  of  her  song  sounds  to 
me  like  an  adventure  and  a  victory  in  the  '  ton- 
weltj  and  whilst  all  the  choir  beside  stay  fast  by 
their  leader  and  the  bass-viol,  this  angel  voice  goes 
choosing,  choosing,  choosing  on,  and  with  the  pre 
cision  of  genius  keeps  its  faithful  road  and  floods 
the  house  with  melody." 

"  A  fine  melody  again  at  the  church.  I  always 
thank  the  gracious  Urania  when  our  chorister 
selects  tunes  with  solos  for  my  singer.  My  ear 


70  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

waits  for  those  sweet  modulations,  so  pure  of  all 
manner  of  personality,  so  universal  that  they  open 
the  ear  like  the  rising  of  the  wind." 

"1838. 

"  At  church  I  saw  that  beautiful  child and 

my  fine,  natural,  manly  neighbor  who  bore  the 
bread  and  wine  to  the  communicants  with  so  clear 
an  eye  and  excellent  face  and  manners.  That  was 
all  I  saw  that  looked  like  God  at  church.  Let 
the  clergy  beware  when  the  well-disposed  scholar 
begins  to  say,  '  I  cannot  go  to  church,  time  is  too 
precious." 

In  his  full  manhood  he  had  written  when  his 
successor  was  ordained  at  the  Second  Church  :  — 

"  We  love  the  venerable  house 
Our  fathers  built  to  God." 

This  sentiment  he  never  lost,  but  he  cared  so 
much  for  the  church  that  it  chafed  him  to  hear 
low  utilitarian,  Honesty-is-the-best-Policy  views,  or 
cold  formalism.  He  always  delighted  in  a  born 
priest,  of  whatever  denomination  he  chanced  to 

wear  the  gown. 

June,  1845. 

Journal.  "  It  was  a  pleasure  yesterday  to  hear 
Father  Taylor  preach  all  day  in  our  country 
church.  Men  are  always  interested  in  a  man,  and 
the  whole  various  extremes  of  our  little  village 
society  were  for  once  brought  together.  Black  and 
white,  poet  and  grocer,  contractor  and  lumberman, 


THE   VILLAGE   CHURCH.  71 

Methodists  and  preachers,  joined  with  the  regular 
congregation  in  rare  union.  Oliver  Houghton, 
Kimball,  John  Garrison,  Belknap,  Britton,  the 
Methodist  preachers,  W.  E.  Channing,  Thoreau, 
Horace  Mann,  Samuel  Hoar,  The  Curtises,  Mrs. 
Barlow,  Minot  Pratt,  Edmund  Hosmer,  were  of 
Taylor's  auditory." 

But  when  he  found  that  the  average  preacher  of 
that  day  had  no  help  for  him,  and  that  sermon  and 
prayer  jarred  rather  than  accorded  with  the  thought 
which  he  had  received  when  earnestly  listening  in 
solitude  for  the  truest  word  to  speak  for  the  help 
of  the  people,  he  ceased  to  go.  If  those  who  find 
clouds  go  simply  for  example's  sake  because  others 
may  find  light,  how  are  they  not  responsible  if 
those  others,  like  them,  find  clouds  and  go  away 
baffled  ? 

"  The  dervish  whined  to  Said, 
'Thou  didst  not  tarry  while  I  prayed: 

Beware  the  fire  which  Eblis  burned.' 

But  Saadi  coldly  thus  returned,  — 
'  Once  with  manlike  love  and  fear 

I  gave  thee  for  an  hour  my  ear, 

I  kept  the  sun  and  stars  at  bay, 

And  love,  for  words  thy  tongue  could  say. 

I  cannot  sell  my  heaven  again 

For  all  that  rattles  in  thy  brain.'  " 

In  the  town-meetings  he  took  great  pleasure. 
In  them  he  saw  the  safety  and  strength  of  New 


72  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

England.  "In  this  institution,"  lie  says,  "the 
great  secret  of  political  science  was  uncovered,  and 
the  problem  solved  how  to  give  every  individual 
his  fair  weight  in  the  government  without  any  dis 
order  from  numbers.  The  roots  of  society  were 
reached.  Here  the  rich  gave  counsel,  but  the  poor 
also ;  and  moreover  the  just  and  the  unjust."  It 
pleases  him  to  note  how  the  citizens  assume  that 
some  allowance  and  license  will  be  given  them  in 
this,  as  it  were,  family-gathering,  and  that  "  a  man 
felt  at  liberty  to  exhibit  at  town-meeting  feelings 
and  actions  that  he  would  have  been  ashamed  of 
anywhere  but  amongst  his  neighbors,"  because  all 
this  shows  "  that  if  the  results  of  our  history  are 
approved  as  wise  and  good,  it  was  yet  a  free  strife ; 
if  the  good  counsel  prevailed,  the  sneaking  counsel 
did  not  fail  to  be  suggested ;  freedom  and  virtue, 
if  they  triumphed,  triumphed  in  a  fair  field.  And 
so  be  it  an  everlasting  testimony  for  them,  and  so 
much  ground  of  assurance  of  man's  capacity  for 
self-government. ' ' 

He  sat  among  his  neighbors  and  watched  the 
plain  men  of  the  town  manage  their  affairs  with 
the  courage  of  their  convictions,  and,  a  speaker  by 
profession  himself,  seldom  took  part  in  the  debate, 
and  then  with  great  hesitancy  and  modesty,  but 
came  home  to  praise  the  eloquence  and  strong  good- 
sense  of  his  neighbors. 


TOWN  MEETING.  73 

November,  1863. 

Journal.  "At  the  town  -  meeting  one  is  im 
pressed  with  the  accumulated  virility  of  the  four 
or  five  men  who  speak  so  well  to  the  point,  and  so 
easily  handle  the  affairs  of  the  town.  Only  four 
last  night,  and  all  so  good  that  they  would  have 
satisfied  me,  had  I  been  in  Boston  or  Washington. 
The  speech  of was  perfect,  and  to  that  hand 
ful  of  people,  who  heartily  applauded  it." 

And  at  another  time  he  writes :  — 

"  The  most  hard  -  fisted,  disagreeably  restless, 
thought-paralyzing  companion  sometimes  turns  out 
in  the  town-meeting  to  be  a  fluent,  various  and 
effective  orator.  Now  I  find  what  all  that  excess 
of  power  which  chafed  and  fretted  me  so  much  in 
was  for." 

The  lecture  platform  was,  as  he  often  said,  his 
free  pulpit.  "  Lyceums  —  so  that  people  will  let 
you  say  what  you  think  —  are  as  good  a  pulpit  as 
any  other."  He  took  a  hearty  interest  in,  and  had 
great  hopes  for  the  influence  of  that  active  focus 
of  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  life  of  the  village 
for  nearly  fifty  years.  This  institution  was  then 
new  in  New  England.  Concord  was  one  of  the 
earliest  towns  that  had  formed  such  an  association, 
only  five  years  before  Mr.  Emerson  came  there  to 
live.  It  was  at  first  a  sort  of  Mutual  Improvement 
Society,  and  debates  between  appointed  disputants 


74  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

were  the  usual  entertainment ;  but  these  soon  gave 
way  to  lectures  on  subjects  historical,  literary,  sci 
entific  or  philanthropic,  though  it  was  soon  found 
that  these  last  were  so  exciting  to  the  New  England 
mind,  and  so  closely  related  to  the  politics  of  the 
day  that  they  nearly  wrecked  the  Lyceums.  Nev 
ertheless  Mr.  Emerson  held  that  these  issues,  even 
though  the  firebrands  frightened  for  a  time  the 
Muses  away,  could  not  honestly  be  ignored  in  the 
Lyceum,  for  while  the  blot  remained,  the  people 
must  look  at  it.  He  writes  in  his  journal :  — 

"November^,  1837. 

"  Right-minded  men  have  recently  been  called  to 
decide  for  abolition." 

He  received  that  year  a  letter  from  a  gentleman, 
in  behalf  of  the  Salem  Lyceum,  requesting  him  to 
lecture  there  the  next  winter,  and  adding :  "  The 
subject  is  of  course  discretionary  with  yourself, 
provided  no  allusions  are  made  to  religious  contro 
versy,  or  other  exciting  topics  upon  which  the  pub 
lic  mind  is  honestly  divided."  He  writes  in  his 

journal :  "  I  replied  on  the  same  day  to  Mr. , 

by  quoting  these  words  and  adding,  — '  I  am  really 
sorry  that  any  person  in  Salem  should  think  me 
capable  of  accepting  an  invitation  so  encumbered.'  " 

Mr.  Emerson  was  at  several  times  Curator  of 
the  Lyceum  ;  almost  invariably  attended  its  meet 
ings  when  in  town,  but  his  principal  business  in 


CONCORD  LYCEUM.  75 

winter  being  the  addressing  similar  bodies  all  over 
the  country,  he  was  necessarily  absent  much  of  the 
time.  He  helped  the  management  in  every  way 
possible  by  inducing  his  literary  friends  to  give 
lectures  in  Concord,  and  entertained  many  of  the 
lecturers  at  his  house,  though  he  might  not  be  at 
home. 

In  my  boyhood  I  remember  hearing  of  a  remark 
made  to  my  father,  in  conversation  about  speakers 
for  the  Lyceum,  by  a  leading  citizen  of  Concord : 
"  There  are  only  three  persons,  as  far  as  I  know, 
whose  opinions  are  obnoxious  to  the  members  of 
our  community :  they  are,  Theodore  Parker,  Wen 
dell  Phillips,  and  —  if  I  may  be  so  candid  —  your 
self,  Sir."  However,  they  bore  with  a  lecture  from 
him  (sometimes  two  or  even  more)  nearly  every 
winter  from  1835  to  1880. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  anti-slavery  struggle 
Mr.  Emerson  stood  for  Freedom  (indeed  he  had 
admitted  anti-slavery  speakers  into  his  pulpit  in 
Boston),  although  while  honoring  the  courage  and 
principle  of  the  leaders  of  the  agitation  he  dis 
liked  the  narrowness  and  bitterness  often  shown  by 
them,  and  refused  to  come  into  the  harness  of  their 
organization.  He  claimed  that  his  broader  work 
included  theirs.  He  saw  that  his  proper  work  and 
lot  in  the  world  would  remain  neglected  and  unful 
filled,  should  he  assume  their  weapons,  take  their 
orders  and  be  tied  up  in  their  organization ;  but 


76  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

when,  from  bis  allotted  post  apart,  he  saw  the  oppor 
tunity,  or  a  great  occasion  called  him,  he  felt  all 
the  more  bound  to  show  his  colors  and  strike  his 
blow  for  Freedom,  and  when  an  issue  was  pending, 
he  usually  consented  to  requests  of  Garrison  or 
Phillips  that  he  would  speak,  or  at  least  sit  on  the 
platform,  at  large  meetings  in  the  cities,  especially 
if  the  meeting  promised  to  be  stormy.  He  early 
made  an  anti-slavery  address  in  Concord  (Novem 
ber  1837).  Again,  in  1844,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
anniversary  of  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves  in 
the  British  West  Indies.  In  1845  he  was  one  of 
the  committee  at  a  meeting  held  in  Concord  to 
resent  the  outrage  done  by  citizens  of  South  Car 
olina  to  the  agent  of  Massachusetts,  sent  thither  to 
protect  the  rights  of  her  citizens,  our  townsman  the 
Honorable  Samuel  Hoar. 

As  the  agitation  went  on,  the  calls  were  more 
frequent,  and  often  against  all  his  instincts  and 
desires  he  left  his  study  and  his  pine  grove  to 
attend  meetings  where  was  little  to  console  him. 
He  alludes  to  them  occasionally  good  naturedly 
and  with  some  humor. 

But  sadder  days  were  at  hand.  In  September, 
1846,  when  a  poor  negro  had  been  seized  in  Bos 
ton  and  carried  back  to  slavery,  and  a  citizens' 
meeting  was  called  in  Faneuil  Hall,  he  wrote  to 
the  Committee :  — 


FUGITIVE  SLAVE  LAW.  77 

"  If  it  shall  turn  out,  as  desponding  men  say, 
that  our  people  do  not  really  care  whether  Boston 
is  a  slave  port  or  not,  provided  our  trade  thrives, 
then  we  may  at  least  cease  to  dread  hard  times 
and  ruin.  It  is  high  time  our  bad  wealth  came  to 
an  end.  I  am  sure  I  shall  very  cheerfully  take  my 
share  of  suffering  in  the  ruin  of  such  a  prosperity, 
and  shall  very  willingly  turn  to  the  mountains  to 
chop  wood  and  seek  to  find  for  myself  and  my 
children  labors  compatible  with  freedom  and 
honor." 

The  passage  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Act  by  Con 
gress  for  a  time  darkened  the  face  of  the  day,  even 
to  this  apostle  of  Hope.  He  woke  in  the  mornings 
with  a  weight  upon  him.  In  his  public  speeches 
at  this  time  he  spoke  of  it  as  "  a  law  which  every 
one  of  you  will  break  on  the  earliest  occasion ;  a 
law  which  no  man  can  obey  or  abet  without  loss 
of  self-respect  and  forfeiture  of  the  name  of  a  gen 
tleman."  When  his  children  told  him  that  the 
subject  given  out  for  their  next  school  composition 
was,  The  Building  of  a  House,  he  said,  "  You  must 
be  sure  to  say  that  no  house  nowadays  is  perfect 
without  having  a  nook  where  a  fugitive  slave  can 
be  safely  hidden  away." 

The  national  disgrace  took  Mr.  Emerson's  mind 
from  poetry  and  philosophy,  and  almost  made  him 
for  the  time  a  student  of  law  and  an  advocate.  He 
eagerly  sought  and  welcomed  all  principles  in  law- 


78  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

books,  or  broad  rulings  of  great  jurists,  that  Right 
lay  behind  Statute  to  guide  its  application  and  that 
immoral  laws  are  void.  His  journals  at  this  epoch, 
one  especially  called  "  Liberty,"  are  full  of  the 
results  of  his  researches,  and  fragments  of  speeches 

in  which  he  proposed  to  use  them. 

1852. 

Journal.  "I  waked  last  night  and  bemoaned 
myself  because  I  had  not  thrown  myself  into  this 
deplorable  question  of  Slavery,  which  seems  to 
want  nothing  so  much  as  a  few  assured  voices.  But 
then  in  hours  of  sanity  I  recover  myself,  and  say, 
God  must  govern  his  own  world,  and  knows  his 
way  out  of  this  pit  without  my  desertion  of  my  post, 
which  has  none  to  guard  it  but  me.  I  have  quite 
other  slaves  to  free  than  those  negroes,  to  wit,  im 
prisoned  spirits,  imprisoned  thoughts,  far  back  in 
the  brain  of  man,  —  far  retired  in  the  heaven  of 
invention,  and  which,  important  to  the  republic 
of  man,  have  no  watchman  or  lover  or  defender 
but  I." 

When  Daniel  Webster,  who  had  been  an  idol  of 
his  youth,  turned  his  back  on  anti-slavery  principles, 
Mr.  Emerson  in  his  speeches  strongly  exposed  and 
attacked  the  great  apostate,  though  still  so  beloved 
at  the  North  that  who  ventured  to  attack  him  must 
brave  angry  hisses,  and  in  a  speech  at  Cambridge, 
though  interrupted  by  the  outcries  and  groans  of 
young  Boston  Southern  sympathizers,  he  said  :  — 


FREEDOM'S  BATTLE.  79 

"Nobody  doubts  that  Daniel  Webster  could 
make  a  good  speech.  Nobody  doubts  that  there 
were  good  and  plausible  things  to  be  said  on  the 
part  of  the  South.  But  this  is  not  a  question  of 
ingenuity,  not  a  question  of  syllogisms,  but  of  sides. 
How  came  he  there  ?  " l 

When  he  threw  down  his  dismal  newspaper, 
crossed  the  brook  and  pastures,  and  reached  his 
sacred  grove  of  white  pines,  courage  and  hope  re 
vived.  The  oracles  he  ever  found  favorable,  but 
he  saw  that  he  must  abide  the  slow  and  secure 
working  of  the  great  laws.  Meantime  was  the  gen 
eral  government  corrupt,  —  let  Massachusetts  keep 
her  hands  clean  of  iniquity.  Did  Massachusetts 
stoop  to  be  the  tool  of  threatening  Carolina,  and 
was  Boston  timid  and  subservient,  —  let  those 
"  who  lived  by  the  ragged  pine  "  preserve  their 
manly  virtue  against  better  days.  When  he  hoed 
his  garden,  a  crop  of  comfort  straightway  sprang 
up. 

1852. 

Journal.  "  I  have  confidence  in  the  laws  of  mor 
als  as  of  botany.  I  have  planted  maize  in  my  field 
every  June  for  seventeen  years  and  I  never  knew 
it  come  up  strychnine.  My  parsley,  beet,  turnip, 
carrot,  buck-thorn,  chestnut,  acorn,  are  as  sure.  I 
believe  that  justice  produces  justice,  and  injustice 
injustice. 

l  Lecture  on  Fugitive  Slave  Law- 


80  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"And  what  number  of  these  Southern  majors 
and  colonels,  and  of  Yankee  lawyers  and  manufac 
turers  and  state-secretaries  thanking  God  in  the 
Boston  tone,  will  suffice  to  persuade  the  dreadful 
secrecy  of  moral  nature  to  forego  its  appetency,  or 
cause  to  decline  its  chase  of  effect?" 

He  found  comfort  also  in  the  talk  with  his  sturdy 
neighbors. 

"1851. 

"  Hosmer  says  :  '  Sims  came  on  a  good  errand ; 
for  Sumner  is  elected,  Rantoul  and  Palfrey  are 
likely  to  be.  The  State  of  Massachusetts  ought  to 
buy  that  fellow.' " 

Thus  the  interpreter  delighted  him  by  showing 
him  his  own  doctrine  of  Good  out  of  Evil ;  that,  in 
a  sense,  injustice  would  produce  justice. 

On  his  way  to  town  meeting  he  saw  his  next 
neighbor,  George  Minot,  at  work,  after  his  lei 
surely  fashion,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  not  going 
to  cast  his  vote  with  all  honest  men  for  Freedom. 
"  No,"  said  this  honest  Rip  van  Winkle,  "  I  ain't 
goin'.  It 's  no  use  a-balloting,  for  it  won't  stay. 
What  you  do  with  a  gun  will  stay  so." 

The  man  of  the  pen  was  pleased,  but  did  not 
think  it  a  case  for  a  gun  yet,  so  went  on  to  the 
town  meeting. 


CIVIC  DUTY.  81 

1854. 

Journal.  "  Those  who  stay  away  from  election 
think  that  one  vote  will  do  no  good.  'T  is  but  one 
step  more  to  think  that  one  vote  will  do  no  harm. 
But  if  they  should  come  to  be  interested  in  them 
selves,  in  their  career,  they  would  no  more  stay 
away  from  the  election  than  from  honesty  or  from 
affection." 

"  Let  us  have  the  considerate  vote  of  single  men 
spoken  on  their  honor  and  their  conscience.  What 
a  vicious  practice  is  this  of  our  politicians  at  Wash 
ington  pairing  off!  As  if  one  man  who  votes 
wrong  going  away  could  excuse  you  who  mean  to 
vote  right  for  going  away ;  or  as  if  your  presence 
did  not  tell  in  more  ways  than  in  your  vote.  Sup 
pose  the  three  hundred  heroes  at  Thermopylae  had 
paired  off  with  three  hundred  Persians :  would  it 
have  been  all  the  same  to  Greece,  and  to  history  ?  " 

He  found  that  to  do  one's  duty  to  the  State 
strengthened  the  individual. 

"  A  man  must  ride  alternately  on  the  horses  of 
his  private  and  public  nature.  .  .  . 

"  Like  vaulters  in  a  circus  round 
That  leap  from  horse  to  horse,  but  never  touch  the  ground." 

Though  without  skill  in  the  weapons  of  debate, 
and  most  modest  about  his  knowledge  of  practical 
affairs,  he  went  to  political  meetings  as  a  civic  duty 
and  a  discipline  of  courage.  In  his  boyhood,  I  am 


82  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

told  by  one  of  his  early  friends,  he  said  he  thought 
he  could  endure  martyrdom,  be  burned  at  the 
stake.  His  younger  brother,  Charles,  said,  "  Yes, 
but  if  any  one  spoke  to  you  on  the  way  there  you 
would  be  so  abashed  you  would  n't  have  a  word  to 
say."  Later  some  criticism  to  the  same  purpose 
was  probably  made  by  him,  for  my  father  writes  in 
his  journal  in  1833  :  — 

"  Were  it  not  a  heroic  venture  in  me  to  insist  on 
being  a  popular  speaker  and  run  full  tilt  against 
the  Fortune  who,  with  such  beautiful  consistency, 
shows  evermore  her  back.  Charles's  naif  censure 
last  night  provoked  me  to  show  him  a  fact  appa 
rently  entirely  new  to  him,  that  my  entire  success, 
such  as  it  is,  is  composed  wholly  of  particular  fail 
ures,  every  public  work  of  mine  of  the  least  impor 
tance  having  been,  probably  without  exception, 
noted  at  the  time  as  a  failure.  The  only  success 
(agreeably  to  common  ideas)  has  been  in  the  coun 
try,  and  there  founded  on  the  false  notion  that 
here  was  a  Boston  preacher.  I  will  take  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld's  line  for  my  motto  [of  a  brook], 

"  And  the  more  falls  I  get,  move  faster  on." 

Partly  for  the  rough  training  good  for  a  scholar 
he  went  to  political  meetings,  —  always  as  a  learner, 
to  be  sure,  for  so  he  went  everywhere  to  his  dying 
day,  —  but  only  as  to  details,  for  even  his  modesty 
did  not  accept  the  doctrine  that  the  scholar,  the 


THE  SCHOLAR  AS  CITIZEN.  83 

"callow  college  doctrinaire,"  in  the  language  of 
to-day,  must  learn  his  duty  from  the  callous  poli 
tician  or  man  of  affairs.  Let  large  issues  of  jus 
tice  and  humanity  arise,  no  deference  was  to  be 
shown  to  the  man  of  the  world;  principles  the 
scholar  and  poet  knows  better  than  he. 

"  The  vulgar  politician,  if  he  finds  the  honesty 
of  a  party  or  speaker  stand  in  his  way,  disposes  of 
them  cheaply  as  the  '  sentimental  class.' ' 

"  The  office  of  the  scholar  is  to  cheer,  to  raise 
and  to  guide  men  by  showing  them  facts  amidst 
appearances.  These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes 
him  to  feel  all  confidence  in  himself  and  to  defer 
never  to  the  popular  cry.  He,  and  he  only,  knows 
the  world.  The  world  of  any  moment  is  the 
merest  appearance.  .  .  .  Some  ephemeral  trade,  or 
war,  or  man,  is  cried  up  by  half  mankind,  and 
cried  down  by  the  other  half,  as  if  all  depended 
on  this  particular  up  or  down.  .  .  .  Let  him 
not  quit  his  belief  that  a  pop-gun  is  a  pop-gun, 
though  the  ancient  and  honorable  of  the  earth 
should  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of  doom." 

"A  scholar  defending  the  cause  of  slavery,  of 
arbitrary  government,  of  monopoly,  of  the  op 
pressor,  is  a  traitor  to  his  profession.  He  has 
ceased  to  be  a  scholar.  He  is  not  company  for 
clean  people.  The  fears  and  agitations  of  those 
who  watch  the  markets,  the  crops,  the  plenty  or 
scarcity  of  money,  or  other  superficial  events,  are 


84  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

not  for  him.  He  knows  the  world  is  always  equal 
to  itself,  that  the  forces  which  uphold  and  pervade 
it  are  eternal."  .  .  . 

"  The  scholar  is  bound  to  stand  for  all  the  vir 
tues  and  all  the  liberties,  —  liberty  of  trade,  liberty 
of  the  press,  liberty  of  religion,  —  and  he  should 
open  all  the  prizes  of  success  and  all  the  roads  of 
nature  to  free  competition." 

"  I  have  no  knowledge  of  trade.  There  is  not  a 
sciolist  who  cannot  shut  my  mouth  and  my  under 
standing  by  strings  of  facts  that  seem  to  prove  the 
wisdom  of  tariffs.  But  my  faith  in  freedom  of 
trade,  as  the  rule,  returns  always.  If  the  Creator 
has  made  oranges,  coffee  and  pineapples  in  Cuba 
and  refused  them  to  Massachusetts,  I  cannot  see 
why  we  should  put  a  fine  on  the  Cubans  for  bring 
ing  these  to  us,  —  a  fine  so  heavy  as  to  enable 
Massachusetts  men  to  build  costly  palm-houses  and 
glass  conservatories  under  which  to  coax  these 
poor  plants  to  ripen  under  our  hard  skies,  and  thus 
discourage  the  poor  planter  from  sending  them  to 
gladden  the  very  cottages  here.  We  punish  the 
planter  there  and  punish  the  consumer  here  for 
adding  these  benefits  to  life.  Tax  opium,  tax 
poisons,  tax  brandy,  gin,  wine,  hasheesh,  tobacco 
and  whatever  articles  of  pure  luxury,  but  not 
healthy  and  delicious  food." 

Whether  native   or  acquired   by  training,  Mr. 


EMERSON'S  COURAGE.  85 

Emerson  always  had  courage  at  the  right  time. 
He  would  have  scorned  to  leave  out,  for  fear  of  dis 
turbing  the  feelings  of  his  audience,  any  drastic 
lesson  that  he  believed  they  needed  to  hear.  When, 
in  the  winter  of  1838,  he  had  moved  his  cultivated 
Boston  hearers  with  his  lecture  on  Heroism,  and 
carried  them  with  him  in  full  tide  of  sympathy 
with  unselfish  courage  to  the  death,  in  causes  for 
lorn  until  the  hero  assumed  them,  he  suddenly 
said,  looking  in  their  eyes :  — 

"The  day  never  shines  in  which  this  element 
may  not  work.  ...  It  is  but  the  other  day  that 
the  brave  Lovejoy  gave  his  breast  to  the  bullets  of 
the  mob  for  the  rights  of  free  speech  and  opin 
ion,  and  died  when  it  was  better  not  to  live." 

A  cold  shudder  ran  through  the  audience  at  the 
calm  braving  of  public  opinion,  says  an  eye-witness. 
Heroes  in  the  concrete  are  not  in  force  in  any  lec 
ture-room. 

So  on  his  second  visit  to  Europe  in  1847—8,  at 
a  time  when  in  England  and  in  France  the  social 
fabric  showed  signs  of  crumbling  under  the  pres 
sure  of  excited  masses  of  humanity,  feeling  that 
somehow  they  were  living  defrauded  of  their  birth 
rights  of  a  fair  and  free  chance  in  life  by  worn-out 
or  corrupted  institutions,  and  that  the  rich  and  for 
tunate  spent  no  thought  on  their  condition,  —  Mr. 
Emerson,  being  invited  to  read  lectures,  wrote  one 
upon  Natural  Aristocracy.  He  read  this  in  Edin- 


86  EMERSON  IN   CONCORD. 

boro'  first,  but  later  in  London,  and  among  his 
hearers  were  many  noble  and  titled  persons.  He 
spoke  of  the  duties,  obligations,  of  the  prosperous 
and  favored  classes,  and  how  gladly  mankind  see 
an  efficient,  helpful  man  in  high  station :  "  But  the 
day  is  darkened  when  the  golden  river  runs  down 
into  mud,  when  genius  grows  idle  and  wanton  and 
reckless  of  its  fine  duties  of  being  Saint,  Prophet, 
Inspirer  to  its  humble  fellows,  baulks  their  respect 
and  confounds  their  understanding  with  silly  ex 
travagances."  He  told  how  much  even  of  folly 
and  vice  the  populace  will  forgive  to  such  as  will 
do  substantial  public  or  private  service  after  their 
kind,  and  then  said :  — 

"  But  if  those  who  merely  sit  in  their  places  and 
are  not,  like  them,  able ;  if  the  dressed  and  per 
fumed  gentleman,  who  serves  the  people  in  no  wise 
and  adorns  them  not,  is  not  even  not  afraid  of 
them ;  if  such  a  one  go  about  to  set  ill  examples 
and  corrupt  them,  who  shall  blame  them  if  they 
burn  his  barns,  insult  his  children,  assail  his  per 
son  and  express  their  unequivocal  indignation  and 
contempt  ?  He  eats  their  bread,  he  does  not  scorn 
to  live  by  their  labor,  —  and  after  breakfast  he  can 
not  remember  that  there  are  human  beings." 

He  records  that,  soon  after,  Lord called  on 

him  at  his  lodgings  and  "  hoped  I  would  leave  out 
that  passage  if  I  repeated  the  lecture."  His  only 
comment  in  his  journal  is,  "Aristocracy  is  always 


THE   CAUSE  OF  FREEDOM.  87 

timid."  Had  he  been  speaking  to  the  revolution 
ists,  it  is  very  certain  that  he  would  have  used  no 
expressions  to  excite  them  to  violence ;  but  this  les 
son  was  written  for  the  aristocracy  of  England, 
and  he  respected  them  too  much  to  offer  them  pap 
for  medicine. 

To  all  meetings  held  in  Concord  for  the  cause 
of  Freedom,  spiritual  or  corporal,  he  felt  bound 
to  give  the  sanction  of  his  presence  whether  the 
speakers  were  good  or  bad ;  he  officially  welcomed 
Kossuth  and  his  Hungarian  exiles ;  he  entertained 
John  Brown  at  his  house  and  gave  largely  from 
his,  at  that  time  very  limited,  means,  to  the  fund 
for  the  furtherance  and  arming  of  the  Kansas 
"  Free  State  "  immigration. 

January  1,  1861. 

Journal.  "  The  furious  slave-holder  does  not 
see  that  the  one  thing  he  is  doing  by  night  and  by 
day  is  to  destroy  slavery.  They  who  help  and  they 
who  hinder  are  all  equally  diligent  in  hastening  its 
downfall.  Blessed  be  the  inevitabilities. 

"  Do  the  duty  of  the  hour.  Just  now  the  supreme 
public  duty  of  all  thinking  men  is  to  assert  free 
dom.  Go  where  it  is  threatened  and  say  '  I  am 
for  it  and  do  not  wish  to  live  in  the  world  a  mo 
ment  longer  than  it  exists.'  " 

At  this  time,  just  before   the  war,  the  darkest 


88  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

hour  before  the  dawn  of  healthy  and  patriotic  feel 
ing,  he  went,  invited  by  Wendell  Phillips,  to  the 
anti-slavery  meeting  in  Boston,  which,  it  was  known, 
the  mob  had  determined  to  break  up.  He  stood 
up  calmly  before  the  howling  and  jeering  throng  of 
well-dressed  Bostonians  who  would  save  the  Union 
with  slavery,  and  silence  the  troublesome  fanatics 
who  would  not  have  the  Northern  conscience  put 
under  Southern  rule,  —  and  spoke,  but  his  words 
were  drowned  in  the  uproar.  He  looked  them  in 
the  face  and  withdrew.  When  at  last  the  dragon's 
teeth  sprang  up,  he  could  not  feel  the  war  as  a 
cruel  Nemesis,  but  as  a  just  and  helpful  one,  recall 
ing  the  lost  manliness  to  a  people  and  replacing 
materialism  and  scepticism  by  a  high  faith.  His 
instincts  were  against  violence,  but  he  always  be 
lieved  that  it  should  be  held  as  a  last  reserve. 

1850. 

Journal.  "  Yes,  the  terror  and  repudiation  of 
war  and  of  capital  punishment  may  be  a  form  of 
materialism  .  .  .  and  show  that  all  that  engages 
you  is  what  happens  to  men's  bodies." 

In  the  journals  of  the  war  time  are  everywhere 
headings,  "  Benefits  of  the  War,"  and  the  like, 
and  he  cheerfully  writes  :  — 

"Certain  it  is  that  never  before  since  I  read 
newspapers  has  the  morale  played  so  large  a  part 
in  them  as  now." 


THE   WAR.  89 

On  returning  from  some  occasion  where  a  cler 
gyman  had  unsatisfactorily  preached  and  prayed 
about  the  war,  he  says  :  — 

"  Yet  I  felt  while  he  spoke  that  it  was  easy,  or 
at  least  possible,  to  open  to  the  audience  the  thesis 
which  he  mouthed  upon,  how  the  Divine  order 
4  pays '  the  country  for  the  sacrifices  it  has  made, 
and  makes  in  the  war.  War  ennobles  the  country ; 
searches  it ;  fires  it ;  acquaints  it  with  its  resources ; 
turns  it  away  from  false  alliances,  vain  hopes  and 
theatric  attitude  ;  puts  it  on  its  mettle,  — '  in  our 
selves  our  safety  must  be  sought ; ' —  gives  it  scope 
and  object ;  concentrates  history  into  a  year ;  in 
vents  means ;  systematizes  everything.  We  began 
the  war  in  vast  confusion :  when  we  end  it  all 
will  be  system." 

He  stood  for  greater  freedom  in  the  act  of  wor 
ship,  for  a  freer  thought  and  expression  than  Amer 
ican  literature,  —  prose  or  poetry,  —  had  yet  known, 
for  the  emancipation  of  the  poor  black,  yet  without 
undue  severity  to  the  planter,  who  found  himself  at 
birth,  like  his  slave,  entangled  in  this  institution, 
for  removal  of  oppressive  disabilities  from  women, 
for  greater  freedom  and  scope  in  university  educa 
tion,  for  purer  methods  in  politics  and  trade,  at  a 
time  when  to  espouse  these  causes  was  to  incur  dis 
approval  or  ridicule  or  enmity  from  most  persons 
even  in  New  England:  even  well-wishers  smiled 
and  said  his  teachings  were  visionary  and  his  ideas 


90  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

unpractical.  Were  they  so,  or  had  he  a  better  eye 
than  these  persons  for  the  perspective  of  events,  and 
the  great  roundness  of  the  world,  while  they  only 
noticed  the  trivial  slopes  on  which  they  for  the  mo 
ment  travelled  ?  "  Drawing,"  he  said,  "  is  a  good 
eye  for  distances,  and  what  else  is  wisdom  but  a  good 
eye  for  distances,  and  time  is  only  more  or  less 
acceleration  of  mental  processes."  And  so  in  mere 
worldly  wisdom  he  proved  wiser  than  many  church 
men  and  politicians  and  practical  men  of  his  day, 
who  saw  but  five  years  before  them,  while  he  saw 
more  ;  for  in  the  fifty  years  that  he  lived  after  part 
ing  with  his  church  he  saw  the  causes  for  which  he 
had  stood  with  a  few  other  scholars  and  independent 
thinkers  and  believers  in  the  Higher  Law,  become 
the  accepted  creeds  of  those  who  had  disapproved 
or  smiled  compassionately,  and  thus  his  early  word 
of  encouragement  to  the  scholar  in  1837  became 
exactly  fulfilled  for  himself :  "  If  a  single  man 
plant  himself  indomitably  on  his  instincts  and 
there  abide,  the  world  will  come  round  to  him." 

In  1842  I  find  that  Mr.  Emerson  was  associated 
with  Mr.  Keuben  N.  Rice  (who  then  kept  the 
Green  Store  on  the  common)  and  Mr.  A.  G.  Fay 
as  a  director  of  the  Concord  Athenaeum,  a  sort  of 
Reading  Room  where  for  a  small  fee  citizens  could 
have  access  to  a  number  of  newspapers  and  maga 
zines  which,  but  for  such  an  institution,  would 


FIRES  IN  THE   WOODS.  91 

never  have  come  within  the  reach  of  most  of  them. 
He  joined  the  Fire  Association,  and  the  leathern 
buckets  and  baize  bag  always  hung  over  the  stairs 
in  the  side  entry,  but  the  introduction  of  the  hand- 
engines  and  organization  of  the  Fire  Department 
rendered  them  obsolete,  and  within  my  recollection 
they  were  hardly  taken  down.  He  went  in  the 
neighborly  fashion  of  those  days  to  fires  in  the 
woods,  and  fought  fire  with  his  pine  bough  (appro 
priate  weapon  for  this  lover  of  the  pine)  side  by 
side  with  his  neighbors. 

He  had  nothing  of  the  military  instinct,  and 
had  availed  himself  of  the  benefit  of  clergy,  so  to 
speak,  to  avoid  it,  for  in  his  diary,  speaking  of  the 
daily  need  of  yeoman's  service  from  every  one,  he 
says  :  "  Condition,  your  private  condition  of  riches 
or  talents  or  seclusion,  —  what  difference  does  that 
make  ?  As  a  man  that  once  came  to  summon  my 
brother  William  and  me  to  train  replied  to  the 
excuse  that  we  were  the  instructors  of  youth,  — 
4  Well,  and  I  am  a  watchmaker  ! ' ' 

But  strangely,  from  the  very  fact  of  conscious 
ness  of  lack  in  this  direction,  he  admired  it  in 
others.  Any  practical  or  executive  talent  in  how 
ever  humble  a  sphere,  even  of  cowherd  or  stable- 
keeper,  commanded  his  respect,  but  he  took  inter 
est  in  great  soldiers,  read  all  the  memoirs  of 
Napoleon,  and  quotes  him  as  often  perhaps  as 
any  historical  character.  His  explanation  is  sym 
bolic. 


92  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  invincible  respect 
for  war  here  in  the  triumphs  of  our  commercial 
civilization,  that  we  can  never  quite  smother  the 
trumpet  and  the  drum  ?  How  is  it  that  the  sword 
runs  away  with  all  the  fame  from  the  spade  and 
the  wheel  ?  Why,  but  because  courage  never  loses 
its  high  price  ?  Why,  but  because  we  wish  to  see 
those  to  whom  existence  is  most  adorned  and  at 
tractive  foremost  to  peril  it  for  their  object,  and 
ready  to  answer  for  their  actions  with  their  life  ?  "  l 

Journal.  "The  military  eye  which  I  meet  so 
often,  darkly  sparkling  now  under  clerical,  now 
under  rustic  brows  —  for  example,  Robert  Bartlett, 
William  Channing,  and  our  William  Shepard  here  ; 
the  city  of  Lacedaemon  and  the  poem  of  Dante, 
which  seems  to  me  a  city  of  Laceda3mon  turned 
into  verses." 

«  October  19,  1839. 

"  Another  day  :  and  hark,  New  Day,  they  batter 
the  grey  cheek  of  thy  morning  with  booming  of 
cannon,  and  now  with  lively  clatter  of  bells  and 
whooping  of  all  the  village  boys.  An  unwonted 
holiday  in  our  quiet  meadows  and  sandy  valleys 
and  Cornwallis  must  surrender  to-day.2  Without 

1  Essay  on  Aristocracy  in  Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches. 

2  At  musters  in  New  England  at  this  epoch  an  important  feature 
was  a  sham-fight  ending  in  a  representation  of  the  surrender  by 
Lord  Cornwallis  to  Washington.     These  heroes  were  represented 
in  scarlet  and  blue-and-buff  uniforms  respectively,  with  powdered 


THE  CORNWALLIS.  93 

sympathy  with  the  merry  crowd,  the  pale  student 
must  yet  listen  and  perchance  even  go  abroad  to 
beg  a  look  at  the  fun." 

But  in  the  evening  the  tale  ran  differently: 
"  And  so  I  went  to  the  Sham-Fight  and  saw  the 
whole  show  with  pleasure.  The  officer  instantly 
appears  through  all  this  masquerade  and  buffoonery. 
I  thought  when  I  first  went  to  the  field  that  it  was 
the  high  tide  of  nonsense,  and  indeed  the  rag-tag 
and  bob-tail  of  the  County  were  there  in  all  the 
wigs,  old  hats  and  aged  finery  of  the  last  genera 
tions.  Then  the  faces  were  like  the  dresses, — 
such  exaggerated  noses,  chins  and  mouths,  that  one 
could  not  reconcile  them  with  any  other  dress  than 
that  frippery  they  wore.  Yet  presently  Nature 
broke  out  in  her  old  beauty  and  strength  through 
all  this  scurf.  The  man  of  skill  makes  his  jacket 
invisible.  Two  or  three  natural  soldiers  among 
these  merry  captains  played  out  their  habitual 

wigs  and  cocked  hats,  below  which  were  seen  the  brown  or  rubi 
cund  features  of  rustic  colonels. 

In  the  Biglow  Papers  the  disenchanted  private  in  the  Mexican 
War  writes  home  to  his  friend,  — 

«'  Recollec'  what  fun  we  had 

You  an'  I  an'  Ezry  Hollis 
Down  to  Waltham  plains  last  Fall 

A  havin'  the  Cornwallis  ? 
This  sort  o'  thing  ain't  jest  like  that,"  etc., 

and  even  the  moral  Hozey  Biglow  admits  that  "  there  is  fun  at  a 
Cornwallis." 


94  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

energy  so  well  that  order  and  reason  appeared  as 
much  at  home  in  a  farce  as  in  a  legislature.  Mean 
time  the  buffoons  of  a  sham-fight  are  soon  felt  to 
be  as  impertinent  there  as  elsewhere.  This  organ 
ization  suffices  to  bring  pioneers,  soldiers,  outlaws 
and  homicides  distinct  to  view,  and  I  saw  Wash 
ington,  Napoleon  and  Murat  come  strongly  out  of 
the  mottled  crew." 

Musters  of  those  days  presented  still  another 
aspect  which  most  of  us  remember.  Bacchus  di 
vided  the  honors  with  Mars. 

"  Fools  and  clowns  and  sots  make  the  fringe  of 
every  one's  tapestry  of  life,  and  give  a  certain  real 
ity  to  the  picture.  What  could  we  do  in  Concord 
without  Bigelow's  and  Wesson's  bar-rooms  and 
their  dependencies  ?  What  without  such  fixtures 
as  Uncle  Sol  and  old  Moore  who  sleeps  in  Dr. 
Hurd's  barn,  and  the  red  Charity-house  over  the 
brook?  Tragedy  and  comedy  always  go  hand  in 
hand." 

Even  in  noisy  politics  he  liked  to  find  a  deeper 
cause. 

1840. 

Journal.  "  The  simplest  things  are  always  bet 
ter  than  curiosities.  The  most  imposing  part  of 
this  Harrison  Celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July  in 
Concord,  as  in  Baltimore,  was  this  ball,  twelve  or 
thirteen  feet  in  diameter,  which,  as  it  mounts  the 
little  heights  and  descends  the  little  slopes  of  the 


THE  HARRISON  CAMPAIGN.  95 

road,  draws  all  eyes  with  a  certain  sublime  move 
ment,  especially  as  the  imagination  is  incessantly 
addressed  with  its  political  significancy.  So  the 
Log  Cabin  is  a  lucky  watchword." 

"  1840. 

"  Sept.  11.  See  how  fond  of  symbols  the  people 
are.  See  the  great  ball  which  they  roll,  from  Bal 
timore  to  Bunker  Hill.  See  Lynn  in  a  Shoe,  and 
Salem  in  a  Ship.  They  say  and  think  that  they 
hate  poetry  and  all  sorts  of  moonshine ;  and  they 
are  all  the  while  mystics  and  transcendentalists." 

1859. 

Journal.  "  There  is  no  strong  performance 
without  a  little  fanaticism  in  the  performer.  That 
field  yonder  did  not  get  such  digging,  ditching, 
filling  and  planting  for  any  pay.  A  fanaticism 
lucky  for  the  owner  did  it.  James  B.  opened  my 
hay  as  fiercely  on  Sunday  as  on  Monday.  Neither 
can  any  account  be  given  of  the  fervid  work  in 
M.  M.  E.'s  manuscripts  but  the  vehement  religion 
which  would  not  let  her  sleep  nor  sit,  but  write, 
write,  night  and  day,  year  after  year.  .  .  .  Un- 
weariable  fanaticism  which,  if  it  could  give  account 
of  itself,  is  the  troll  which  by  night 

"  *  Threshed  the  corn  that  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end/ 

Cushing  and  Banks  and  "Wilson  are  its  victims, 
and  by  means  of  it  vanquishers  of  men.  But  they 


96  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

whose  eyes  are  prematurely  opened  with  broad 
common-sense  views  are  hopeless  dilettanti  and 
must  obey  these  madmen." 

"  1841. 

"  E.  H.  repeats  Colonel  Shattuck's  toast  to  poor 
:  '  The  Orator  of  the  Day ;  his  subject  de 
serves  the  attention  of  every  agriculturist.'  It  does 
honor  to  Colonel  Shattuck.  I  wish  the  great  lords 
and  diplomatists  at  Cambridge  had  only  as  much 
ingenuity  and  respect  for  truth.  The  speeches 
froze  me  to  my  place.  At  last  Bancroft  thawed 
the  ice  and  released  us,  and  I  inwardly  thanked 
him." 

"  1834. 

Journal.  "  Pray  Heaven  that  you  may  have  a 
sympathy  with  all  sorts  of  excellence,  even  with 
those  antipodal  to  your  own.  If  any  eye  rests  on 
this  page,  let  him  know  that  he  who  blotted  it  could 
not  go  into  conversation  with  any  person  of  good 
understanding  without  being  presently  gravelled. 
The  slightest  question  of  his  most  familiar  proposi 
tion  disconcerted  him,  —  eyes,  face  and  understand 
ing,  beyond  recovery.  Yet  did  he  not  the  less 
respect  and  rejoice  in  this  daily  gift  of  vivacious 
common  sense  which  was  so  formidable  to  him." 

In  the  early  days  of  Mr.  Emerson's  Concord 
housekeeping  it  took  from  two  to  three  hours  to 
reach  Boston  by  the  stage  which  lumbered  by  his 


CONCORD  STAGE  COACH.  97 

house  through  dust  or  mud,  and  these  long  rides 
gave  greater  opportunity  for  forming  acquaintance 
with  one's  neighbors  than  the  comparatively  short 
and  unsociable  ride  in  the  seat  of  a  railroad  car. 
Lawyers  going  to  court,  ministers  exchanging  with 
their  country  brethren,  traders  going  to  supply 
their  miscellaneous  country-stores,  ladies  going  vis 
iting  or  to  see  the  sights  of  the  city  were  there. 
Somebody  always  knew  somebody,  and  thus  cheer 
ful  conversation  was  sure  to  be  set  agoing.1 

1841. 

Journal.  "  I  frequently  find  the  best  part  of  my 
ride  in  the  Concord  coach  from  my  house  to  Win- 
throp  Place  to  be  in  Prince  Street,  Charter  Street, 
Ann  Street  and  the  like  places  at  the  North  End  of 
Boston.  The  deshabille  of  both  men  and  women, 
their  unrestrained  attitudes  and  manners  make 
pictures  greatly  more  interesting  than  the  clean- 
shaved  and  silk-robed  procession  in  Washington 
and  Tremont  Streets.  I  often  see  that  the  attitudes 
of  both  men  and  women  engaged  in  hard  work  are 
more  picturesque  than  any  which  art  and  study 
could  contrive,  for  the  Heart  is  in  these  first.  I  say 
picturesque,  because  when  I  pass  these  groups  I 

1 "  The  Concord  Coach  leaves  Earl's  Tavern,  36  Hanover  Street 
[Boston],  every  morning  at  6 :  every  afternoon  at  3  :  and  on  Tues 
day,  Thursday  and  Saturday  at  10,  A.M."  Extract  from  Mr. 
Emerson's  letter  to  a  friend  in  1842. 


98  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

instantly  know  whence  all  the  fine  pictures  I  have 
seen  had  their  origin :  I  feel  the  painter  in  me  ; 
these  are  the  traits  which  make  us  feel  the  force 
and  eloquence  of  form  and  the  sting  of  color.  But 
the  painter  is  only  in  me  and  does  not  come  to  the 
fingers'  ends." 

He  liked  to  talk  with  horsemen  and  stage-driv 
ers,  and  enjoyed  their  racy  vernacular  and  pictu 
resque  brag  as  much  as  the  cautious  understate 
ment  of  the  farmer. 

On  his  walks  he  fell  in  with  pot-hunters  and 
fishermen,  wood-choppers  and  drivers  of  cattle,  and 
liked  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  them,  and  he 
always  observed  the  old-time  courtesy  of  the  road, 
the  salutation  to  the  passer-by,  even  if  a  stranger. 

1837. 

Journal.  "  Do  not  charge  me  with  egotism  and 
presumption.  I  see  with  awe  the  attributes  of  the 
farmers  and  villagers  whom  you  despise.  A  man 
saluted  me  to-day  in  a  manner  which  at  once 
stamped  him  for  a  theist,  a  self-respecting  gentle 
man,  a  lover  of  truth  and  virtue.  How  venerable 
are  the  manners  often  of  the  poor !  " 

"  How  expressive  is  form !  I  see  by  night  the 
shadow  of  a  poor  woman  against  a  window  curtain 
that  instantly  tells  a  story  of  so  much  meekness, 
affection  and  labor  as  almost  to  draw  tears." 


WHOLESOME  LIFE.  99 

"  1841. 

"I  went  to  the  Rainers'  concert  last  night  in 
our  Court  House.  When  I  heard  them  in  Boston, 
I  had  some  dreams  about  music ;  last  night  — 
nothing.  Last  night  I  enjoyed  the  audience.  I 
looked  with  a  great  degree  of  pride  and  affection 
at  the  company  of  my  townsmen  and  townswomen, 
and  dreamed  of  that  kingdom  and  society  of  Love 
which  we  preach." 

"1846. 

"  In  the  city  of  Makebelieve  is  a  great  ostenta 
tion  bolstered  up  on  a  great  many  small  ostenta 
tions.  I  think  we  escape  something  by  living  in 
the  village.  In  Concord  here  there  is  some  milk 
of  life,  we  are  not  so  raving-distracted  with  wind 
and  dyspepsia.  The  mania  takes  a  milder  form. 
People  go  a-fishing  and  know  the  taste  of  their 
meat.  They  cut  their  own  whippletree  in  the 
woodlot ;  they  know  something  practically  of  the 
sun  and  the  east  wind,  of  the  underpinning  and 
the  roofing  of  the  house,  and  the  pan  and  mixture 
of  the  soils." 

To  the  shops,  excepting  that  in  which  the  post- 
office  was  kept,  he  seldom  went,  unless  to  pay  a 
bill ;  though  he  looked  sometimes  with  a  longing 
eye  at  the  group  of  village  worthies  exchanging 
dry  remarks  round  the  grocery  stove,  but  he  knew 
it  was  of  no  use  for  him  to  tarry,  for  the  fact  that 


100  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

he  was  scholar  and  clergyman  would  silence  the 
oracles. 

1847. 

Journal.  "  I  thought  again  of  the  avarice  with 
which  my  man  looks  at  the  Insurance  Office  and 
would  so  fain  be  admitted  to  hear  the  gossip  that 
goes  forward  there.  For  an  hour  to  be  invisible 
there  and  hear  the  best-informed  men  retail  their 
information  he  would  pay  great  prices,  but  every 
company  dissolves  at  his  approach.  He  so  eager 
and  they  so  coy.  A  covey  of  birds  do  not  rise  more 
promptly  from  the  ground  when  he  comes  near  than 
merchants,  brokers,  lawyers  disperse  before  him. 
He  went  into  the  tavern,  he  looked  into  the  win 
dow  of  the  grocery  shop  with  the  same  covetous 
ears.  They  were  so  communicative,  they  laughed 
aloud,  they  whispered,  they  proclaimed  aloud  their 
sentiment ;  he  opened  the  door  —  and  the  conver 
sation  received  about  that  time  a  check,  and  one 
after  another  went  home.  Boys  and  girls  who  had 
so  much  to  say  provoked  scarcely  less  curiosity, 
and  were  equally  inaccessible  to  the  unmagnetic 
man."  .  .  . 

"  We  want  society  on  our  own  terms.  Each  man 
has  facts  that  I  want,  and,  though  I  talk  with  him, 
I  cannot  get  at  them  for  want  of  the  clue.  He 
does  not  know  what  to  do  with  his  facts :  I  know. 
If  I  could  draw  them  from  him,  it  must  be  with 
his  keys,  arrangements  and  reserves.  Here  is  all 


OSMAN.  %J£  ;  101 

Boston,  — all  railroads,  all  manufactures'arid'trade1,1 ' 
in  the  head  of  this  well-informed  merchant  at  my 
side,  What  would  I  not  give  for  a  peep  at  his 
rows  and  rows  of  facts.  Here  is  Agassiz  with 
his  theory  of  anatomy  and  nature ;  I  am  in  his 
chamber,  and  I  do  not  know  what  question  to  put. 
Here  is  Charles  T.  Jackson,  whom  I  have  known  so 
long,  who  knows  so  much,  and  I  have  never  been 
able  to  get  anything  truly  valuable  from  him. 
Here  is  all  Fourier  in  Brisbane's  head ;  all  lan 
guages  in  Kraitser's  ;  all  Swedenborg  in  Reed's ; 
all  the  Revolution  in  old  Adams's  head ;  all  mod 
ern  Europe  and  America  in  John  Quincy  Adams's, 
and  I  cannot  appropriate  a  fragment  of  all  their 
experience.  I  would  fain  see  their  picture-books 
as  they  exist.  Now  if  I  could  cast  a  spell  on  this 
man  at  my  side  and  see  his  pictures  without  his  in 
tervention  or  organs,  and,  having  learned  that  les 
son,  turn  the  spell  on  another,  lift  up  the  cover  of 
another  hive,  and  see  the  cells  and  suck  the  honey, 
and  then  another  and  so  without  limit  —  they  were 
not  the  poorer  and  I  were  rich  indeed. 

"  The  ring  of  Gyges  prefigures  this  —  society  on 
our  own  terms.  .  .  . 

"  But  Osman l  answered  and  said,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  have  the  curiosity  you  describe.  I  do 
not  want  the  particulars  which  the  merchant  values, 

1  Osman  represents  in  his  writings  not  himself,  but  his  better 
self ;  an  ideal  man  put  in  the  same  circumstances. 


102  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 


*6r  the  lawyer?,- or  the  artist,  but  only  the  inevitable 
results  which  he  communicates  to  me  in  his  manner 
and  conduct  and  in  the  tone  and  purpose  of  his 
discourse." 

"1837. 

"  Perhaps  in  the  village  we  have  manners  to 
paint  which  the  city  life  does  not  know.  Here  we 
have  Mr.  S.  who  is  man  enough  to  turn  away  the 
butcher  who  cheats  in  weight,  and  introduce  an 
other  butcher  into  town.  The  other  neighbors 
could  not  take  such  a  step.  Here  is  Mr.  E.  who, 
when  the  Moderator  of  the  Town  meeting,  is  candi 
date  for  representative,  and  so  stands  in  the  centre 
of  the  box  inspecting  each  vote ;  and  each  voter 
dares  carry  up  a  vote  for  the  opposite  candidate 
and  put  it  in.  There  is  the  hero  who  will  not  sub 
scribe  to  the  flagstaff  or  the  engine,  though  all  say 
it  is  mean.  There  is  the  man  who  gives  his  dol 
lar  but  refuses  to  give  his  name,  though  all  the 
other  contributors  are  set  down.  There  is  Mr.  H. 
who  never  loses  his  spirits,  though  always  in  the 
minority,  and  though  '  people  behave  as  bad  as  if 
they  were  drunk,'  he  is  just  as  determined  in  oppo 
sition  and  just  as  cheerful  as  ever.  Here  is  Mr.  C. 
who  says  '  Honor  bright,'  and  keeps  it  so.  Here 
is  Mr.  S.  who  warmly  assents  to  whatever  proposi 
tion  you  please  to  make  ;  and  Mr.  M.  who  roundly 
tells  you  he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  thing. 
The  high  people  in  the  village  are  timid,  the  low 


MILITIA   COMPANIES.  103 

people  are  bold  and  nonchalant ;  negligent  too  of 
each  other's  opposition,  for  they  see  the  amount  of 
it,  and  know  its  uttermost  limits,  which  the  more 
remote  proprietor  does  not.  Here  too  are  not  to 
be  forgotten  our  two  Companies,  the  Light  Infantry 
and  the  Artillery,  who  brought  up,  one  the  Brigade 
Band,  and  one  the  Brass  Band  from  Boston,  set  the 
musicians  side  by  side  under  the  great  tree  on  the 
Common  and  let  them  play  two  tunes  and  jangle 
and  drown  each  other  and  presently  got  the  Com 
panies  into  actual  hustling  and  kicking.  .  .  .  To 
show  the  force  that  is  in  you  (whether  you  are  a 
philosopher  and  call  it  heroism  or  are  a  farmer  and 
call  it  pluck),  you  need  not  go  beyond  the  tinman's 
shop  on  the  first  corner ;  nay,  the  first  man  you 
meet  who  bows  to  you  may  look  you  in  the  eye  and 
call  it  out." 

"1843. 

"It  is  a  compensation  for  their  habitual  mod 
eration  of  nature  in  the  Concord  fields  and  the 
want  of  picturesque  outlines,  the  ease  of  getting 
about.  I  long  sometimes  to  have  mountains, 
ravines  and  flumes,  like  that  in  Lincoln,  New 
Hampshire,  within  reach  of  my  eyes  and  feet ;  but 
the  thickets  of  the  forest  and  the  fatigue  of  moun 
tains  are  spared  me,  and  I  go  through  Concord  as 
through  a  park. 

"  Concord  is  a  little  town,  and  yet  has  its  honors. 
We  get  our  handful  of  every  ton  that  comes  to  the 


104  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

city.  We  have  had  our  share  of  Everett  and 
Webster,  who  have  both  spoken  here ;  so  has 
Edward  Taylor,  so  did  George  Bancroft,  and  Bron- 
son  Alcott  and  Charles  Lane,  Garrison  and  Phil 
lips  the  abolition  orators.  We  have  had  our  shows 
and  processions,  conjurers  and  bear-gardens,  and 
here  too  came  Herr  Driesbach  with  his  cats  and 
snakes. 

"  Hither  come  in  summer  the  Penobscot  Indians, 
and  make  baskets  for  us  on  the  river-bank.  Dr. 
Channing  and  Harriet  Martineau  were  here,  and 
what  I  think  much  more,  my  friends,  —  here  were 
Aunt  Mary,  Ellen,  Edward  and  Charles,  here  is 
Elizabeth  Hoar :  here  have  been  or  are  Margaret 
Fuller,  S.  G.  W.  and  A.  W.,  C.  S.,  C.  K.  N., 
George  P.  Bradford,  Ellery  Channing,  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  Mrs.  Ripley,  Henry  Thoreau  and 
Elliot  Cabot.  In  the  old  time,  John  Winthrop, 
John  Eliot,  Peter  Bulkeley,  then  Whitfield,  then 
Hancock,  Adams  and  the  college  were  here  in 
1775.  Kossuth  spoke  to  us  in  the  Court  House 
in  1852.  Agassiz,  Greenough,  Clough,  Wyman, 
Hawthorne,  Samuel  Hoar,  Thoreau,  Newcomb, 
Lafayette." 

The  presence  of  his  brother  Charles  in  Concord 
had  much  to  do  with  my  father's  decision  to  come 
here.  He  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss 
Elizabeth  Hoar,  lived  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Emerson, 


CHARLES  EMERSOSTS  DEATH.  105 

and  was  the  life  of  the  house,  and  they  had  added 
new  rooms  in  joyful  expectation  that  he  would 
soon  bring  his  bride  to  live  with  them ;  and  Ma 
dam  Emerson  would  have  had  the  joy  of  having 
two  sons,  with  their  wives,  under  the  same  roof 
with  her.  But  as  Charles  reached  the  age  of  thirty, 
the  critical  period  which  two  of  his  brothers  had 
hardly  passed,  and  which  had  proved  fatal  to 
Edward,  his  delicate  constitution  gave  way  to 
exposure  when  in  an  overworked  condition,  and 
he  died  of  quick  consumption  in  May,  1836,  but  a 
few  months  before  he  was  to  have  been  married. 
Of  him  his  grieving  brother  wrote  :  — 

"  And  here  I  am  at  home  again.  My  brother, 
my  friend,  my  ornament,  my  joy  and  pride  has 
fallen  by  the  wayside,  —  or  rather  has  risen  out  of 
this  dust.  .  .  .  Beautiful  without  any  parallel  in 
my  experience  of  young  men  was  his  life  ;  happiest 
his  death.  Miserable  is  my  own  prospect  from 
whom  my  friend  is  taken.  ...  I  read  now  his 
pages,  I  remember  all  his  words  and  motives  with 
out  any  pang,  so  healthy  and  humane  a  life  it  was, 
and  not  like  Edward's,  a  tragedy  of  poverty  and 
sickness  tearing  genius.  ...  I  have  felt  in  him 
the  inestimable  advantage,  when  God  allows  it,  of 
finding  a  brother  and  a  friend  in  one." 

In  a  letter  to  his  brother  William  he  says :  — 


106  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

«  CONCORD,  May  15, 1836. 

..."  At  the  church  this  morning,  before  the 
prayers,  notes  of  the  families  were  read  [desiring 
the  prayers  of  the  congregation]  and  one  from  Dr. 
Ripley,  and  one,  '  many  young  people,  friends  of 
the  deceased,  join  in  the  same  request.'  As  it  was 
unusual  it  was  pleasing.  Mr.  Goodwin  preached 
in  the  morning  from  the  text,  '  Who  knoweth  the 
time  of  his  death?'  and  made  affectionate  and 
sympathetic  remembrance  of  Charles.  Grand 
father,  [Dr.  Ripley]  in  the  afternoon,  called  him 
by  name  in  his  own  rugged  style  of  Indian  elo 
quence.  '  This  event  seems  to  me,'  he  said,  '  loud 
and  piercing,  like  thunder  and  lightning,  While 
many  aged  and  burdensome  are  spared,  this  be 
loved  youth  is  cut  down  in  the  morning.' ' 

The  coming  to  Concord  of  Mrs.  Ripley,  always  a 
dear  and  honored  friend,  and  the  frequent  presence 
of  her  brother,  Mr.  George  P.  Bradford,  a  man 
whom  Mr.  Emerson  always  held  in  very  affection 
ate  regard ;  later  the  coming  of  Mr.  Alcott,  first 
brought  by  Mr.  Bradford  as  a  visitor  in  1835, 
then  of  Mr.  William  Ellery  Channing  and  of  Mr. 
Hawthorne,  and  his  discovery  of  Henry  Thorean, 
then  a  youth  just  out  of  college,  the  easy  access  of 
friends,  known  and  unknown,  through  the  building 
of  the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  —  all  these  circum 
stances  heightened  the  value  of  his  home  in  his 


ALCOTT.  107 

eyes.  I  trust  that  I  shall  not  overstep  the  bounds 
of  propriety  in  the  following  brief  mention  of 
some  of  my  father's  nearer  friends. 

For  Mr.  Alcott's  thought  and  lofty  aims  he  had 
the  very  highest  respect,  and  he  always  declared 
that  conversation  with  Mr.  Alcott  (alone  in  the 
study)  had  been  very  inspiring  to  him.  Early  in 
their  acquaintance  he  writes  of  him  to  his  friend, 
Rev.  William  H.  Furness  :  — 

"  CONCORD,  October,  1837. 

..."  I  shall  always  love  you  for  loving  Alcott. 
He  is  a  great  man :  the  God  with  the  herdsmen 
of  Admetus.  I  cannot  think  you  know  him  now, 
when  I  remember  how  long  he  has  been  here,  for 
he  grows  every  month.  His  conversation  is  sub 
lime.  Yet  when  I  see  how  he  is  underestimated 
by  cultivated  people,  I  fancy  none  but  I  have  heard 
him  talk." 

In  his  journal  for  1856  he  says  :  "  The  comfort 
of  Alcott's  mind  is  the  connection  in  which  he 
sees  whatever  he  sees.  He  is  never  dazzled  by  a 
spot  of  color  or  a  gleam  of  light  to  value  that  thing 
by  itself,  but  for  ever  and  ever  is  prepossessed  by 
the  undivided  one  behind  it  and  all.  I  do  not 
know  where  to  find  in  men  or  books  a  mind  so  val 
uable  to  faith.  His  own  invariable  faith  inspires 
faith  in  others.  .  .  .  For  every  opinion  or  sentence 


108  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

of  Alcott  a  reason  may  be  sought  and  found,  not 
in  his  will  or  fancy,  but  in  the  necessity  of  Nature 
itself,  which  has  daguerred  that  fatal  impression 
on  his  susceptible  soul.  He  is  as  good  as  a  lens  or 
a  mirror,  a  beautiful  susceptibility,  every  impres 
sion  on  which  is  not  to  be  reasoned  against  or  de 
rided,  but  to  be  accounted  for,  and,  until  accounted 
for,  registered  as  an  addition  to  our  catalogue  of 
natural  facts.  There  are  defects  in  the  lens  and 
errors  of  refraction  and  position,  etc.,  to  be  allowed 
for,  and  it  needs  one  acquainted  with  the  lens  by 
frequent  use  to  make  these  allowances;  but  'tis 
the  best  instrument  I  have  ever  met  with." 

He  deplored  the  uncertainty  of  his  inspiration 
in  public  conversation,  and  felt  that  the  man  he 
knew  and  prized  was  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  his 
writings.  His  value  for  Mr.  Alcott's  high  plane 
of  thought  and  life  never,  however,  blinded  him  to 
his  limitations. 

1857. 

Journal.  "  Once  more  for  Alcott  it  may  be  said 
that  he  is  sincerely  and  necessarily  engaged  to  his 
task,  and  not  wilfully  or  ostentatiously  or  pecuni 
arily." 

Mr.  Hawthorne  always  interested  my  father  by 
his  fine  personality,  but  the  gloomy  and  uncanny 
twilight  atmosphere  of  his  books  was  one  in  which 
Mr.  Emerson  could  not  breathe,  and  he  never  could 


HAWTHORNE.  109 

read  far.  But  he  believed  that  the  man  was  bet 
ter  than  his  books,  and  Hawthorne's  death  cut  off 
hopes  which  he  had  cherished  of  a  future  friend 
ship.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne  soon  after 
her  husband's  death,  he  says  :  — 

«  July  11, 1864. 

..."  I  have  had  my  own  pain  in  the  loss  of 
your  husband.  He  was  always  a  mine  of  hope  to 
me,  and  I  promised  myself  a  rich  future  in  achiev 
ing  at  some  day,  when  we  should  both  be  less  en 
gaged  to  tyrannical  studies  and  habitudes,  an  un 
reserved  intercourse  with  him.  I  thought  I  could 
well  wait  his  time  and  mine  for  what  was  so  well 
worth  waiting.  And  as  he  always  appeared  to  me 
superior  to  his  own  performances,  I  counted  this 
yet  untold  force  an  insurance  of  a  long  life. 
Though  sternly  disappointed  in  the  manner  and 
working,  I  do  not  hold  the  guaranty  less  real." 1 

1  Mr.  Hawthorne  once  broke  through  his  hermit  usage,  and 
honored  Miss  Ellen  Emerson,  the  friend  of  his  daughter  Una,  with 
a  formal  call  on  a  Sunday  evening.  It  was  the  only  time,  I  think, 
that  he  ever  came  to  the  house  except  when  persuaded  to  come  in 
for  a  few  moments  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  walked  with  my 
father.  On  this  occasion  he  did  not  ask  for  either  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Emerson,  but  announced  that  his  call  was  upon  Miss  Ellen.  Un 
fortunately  she  had  gone  to  bed,  but  he  remained  for  a  time  talk 
ing  with  my  sister  Edith  and  me,  the  schoolmates  of  his  children. 
To  cover  his  shyness  he  took  up  a  stereoscope  on  the  centre  table 
and  began  to  look  at  the  pictures.  After  looking  at  them  for  a 
time  he  asked  where  these  views  were  taken.  We  told  him  they 
were  pictures  of  the  Concord  Court  and  Town-houses,  the  Common 


110  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

The  history  of  Mr.  Emerson's  first  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Thoreau  is  this.  When  the  former  was 
delivering  a  new  lecture  in  Concord,  Miss  Helen 
Thoreau  said  to  Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Emerson's  sis 
ter,  "  There  is  a  thought  almost  identical  with 
that  in  Henry's  journal,"  which  she  soon  after 
brought  to  Mrs.  Brown,  The  latter  carried  it  to 
Mr.  Emerson,  who  was  interested,  and  asked  her  to 
bring  this  youth  to  see  him.  She  did,  and  thus 
began  a  relation  that  lasted  all  their  lives  of  strong 
respect  and  even  affection,  but  of  a  Roman  char 
acter.1 

In  1838  he  writes :  "  I  delight  much  in  my 
young  friend  who  seems  to  have  as  free  and  erect 
a  mind  as  any  I  have  ever  met." 

Mr.  Thoreau  stood  the  severest  test  of  friend 
ship,  having  been  once  an  inmate  of  Mr.  Emer 
son's  house  for  two  years.  He  was  as  little  troub 
lesome  a  member  of  the  household,  with  his  habits 
of  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  as  could  well 
have  been,  and  in  the  constant  absences  of  the 
master  of  the  house  in  his  lecturing  trips,  the  pres 
ence  there  of  such  a  friendly  and  sturdy  inmate 
was  a  great  comfort.  He  was  "  handy  "with  tools, 

and  the  Mill-dam,  on  hearing  which  he  expressed  some  surprise  and 
interest,  but  evidently  was  as  unfamiliar  with  the  centre  of  the 
village  where  he  had  lived  for  years  as  a  deer  or  a  wood-thrush 
would  be.  He  walked  through  it  often  on  his  way  to  the  cars, 
but  was  too  shy  or  too  rapt  to  know  what  was  there. 

1  Mr.  Thoreau  was  fifteen  years  younger  than  Mr.  Emerson. 


THOREAU.  Ill 

and  there  was  no  limit  to  his  usefulness  and  inge 
nuity  about  house  and  garden.  To  animals  he  was 
as  humane  as  a  woman.  He  was  by  no  means  un 
social,  but  a  kindly  and  affectionate  person,  espe 
cially  to  children,  whom  he  could  endlessly  amuse 
and  charm  in  most  novel  and  healthful  ways. 
With  grown  persons  he  had  tact  and  high  cour 
tesy,  though  with  reserve.  But  folly  or  pretence 
or  cant  or  subserviency  excited  his  formidable  at 
tack,  and,  like  Lancelot,  he  would 

"  Strike  down  the  lusty  and  long  practised  knight 
And  let  the  younger  and  unskilled  go  by 
To  win  his  honor  and  to  make  his  name." 

But  also  with  those  whom  he  honored  and  valued 
like  his  friend  Emerson,  a  certain  combative  in 
stinct  and  love  of  paradox  on  his  part  often  inter 
fered  with  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  conversation, 
so  that  his  friend  says  of  him,  "  Thoreau  is,  with 
difficulty,  sweet."  In  spite  of  these  barriers  of  tem 
perament,  my  father  always  held  him,  as  a  man,  in 
the  highest  honor.  He  delighted  in  being  led  to 
the  very  inner  shrines  of  the  wood-gods  by  this 
man,  clear-eyed  and  true  and  stern  enough  to  be 
trusted  with  their  secrets,  who  filled  the  portrait  of 
the  Forest-seer  of  the  Woodnotes,  although  those 
lines  were  written  before  their  author  came  to 
know  Thoreau. 

In  1852,  writing  to  a  friend  whom  he  would  in 
duce  to  come  to  Concord,  Mr.  Emerson  says :  — 


112  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  If  Corinna  or  the  Delphic  Sibyl  were  here, 
would  you  not  come  breathless  with  speed  ?  Yet  I 
told  you  that  Elizabeth  Hoar  was  here,  and  yet 
you  come  not.  If  old  Pan  were  here,  you  would 
come,  and  we  have  young  Pan  under  another  name, 
whom  you  shall  see,  and  hear  his  reeds  if  you 
tarry  not."  And  earlier,  the  journal  celebrates 
Thoreau,  this  invaluable  new-found  guide  :  — 

"June  6,  1841. 

"  I  am  sometimes  discontented  with  my  house, 
because  it  lies  on  a  dusty  road  and  with  its  sills 
and  cellar  almost  in  the  water  of  the  meadow.  But 
when  I  creep  out  of  it  into  the  night  or  the  morn 
ing  and  see  what  majestic  and  what  tender  beauties 
daily  wrap  me  in  their  bosom,  how  near  to  me  is 
every  transcendent  secret  of  Nature's  love  and  re 
ligion,  I  see  how  indifferent  it  is  where  I  eat  and 
sleep.  This  very  street  of  hucksters  and  taverns 
the  moon  will  transform  into  a  Palmyra,  for  she  is 
the  apologist  of  all  apologists  and  will  kiss  the  elm- 
trees  alone,  and  hides  every  meanness  in  a  silver- 
edged  darkness.  Then  the  good  river -god  has 
taken  the  form  of  my  valiant  Henry  Thoreau  here, 
and  introduced  me  to  the  riches  of  his  shadowy 
starlit,  moonlit  stream,  a  lovely  new  world  lying  as 
close  and  yet  as  unknown  to  this  vulgar  trite  one 
of  streets  and  shops,  as  death  to  life,  or  poetry  to 
prose.  Through  one  field  we  went  to  the  boat,  and 


THOREAU.  113 

then  left  all  time,  all  science,  all  history  behind  us 
and  entered  into  nature  with  one  stroke  of  a  pad 
dle.  Take  care,  good  friend !  I  said,  as  I  looked 
West  into  the  sunset  overhead  and  underneath,  and 
he,  with  his  face  towards  me,  rowed  towards  it,  — 
Take  care :  you  know  not  what  you  do,  dipping 
your  wooden  oar  into  this  enchanted  liquid,  painted 
with  all  reds  and  purples  and  yellows,  which  glows 
under  and  behind  you.  Presently  this  glory  faded 
and  the  stars  came  and  said,  Here  we  are.  .  .  . 
These  beguiling  stars,  soothsaying,  flattering,  per 
suading,  who,  though  their  promise  was  never  yet 
made  good  in  human  experience,  are  not  to  be  con 
tradicted,  not  to  be  insulted,  nay,  not  even  to  be 
disbelieved  by  us.  All  experience  is  against  them, 
yet  their  word  is  Hope  and  shall  still  forever  leave 
experience  a  liar." 

The  year  after  his  friend's  death  he  read  his 
manuscript  journals,  submitted  to  him  by  Miss 
Sophia  Thoreau,  with  great  pleasure  and  almost 
surprise,  and  wrote  in  his  own  :  — 

"  1863. 

"  In  reading  Henry  Thoreau's  journal  I  am  very 
sensible  of  the  vigor  of  his  constitution.  That 
oaken  strength  which  I  noted  whenever  he  walked 
or  worked  or  surveyed  wood-lots,  the  same  unhesi 
tating  hand  with  which  a  field-laborer  accosts  a 
piece  of  work  which  I  should  shun  as  a  waste  of 


114  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

strength,  Henry  shows  in  his  literary  task.  He 
has  muscle,  and  ventures  on  and  performs  feats 
which  I  am  forced  to  decline.  In  reading  him  I 
find  the  same  thoughts,  the  same  spirit  that  is  in 
me,  but  he  takes  a  step  beyond  and  illustrates  by 
excellent  images  that  which  I  should  have  conveyed 
in  a  sleepy  generalization.  'T  is  as  if  I  went  into 
a  gymnasium  and  saw  youths  leap  and  climb  and 
swing  with  a  force  unapproachable,  though  their 
feats  are  only  continuations  of  my  initial  grap- 
plings  and  jumps." 

The  charge  of  imitating  Emerson,  too  often  made 
against  Thoreau,  is  idle  and  untenable,  though  un 
fortunately  it  has  received  some  degree  of  sanction 
in  high  quarters.  Surely  a  much  more  generous 
and  less  superficial  criticism  was  due  from  such  a 
man  and  writer  as  Mr.  Lowell  to  this  brave  and 
upright  man,  and,  in  his  best  moods,  earnest  and 
religious  writer,  than  he  received  in  the  essay  on 
Thoreau.  The  scant  page,  at  the  end  of  the  chap 
ter,  of  really  just  and  high  praise  in  essential  points, 
and  for  lofty  aim  and  unusual  quality  of  mind, 
comes  all  too  late  to  undo  the  effect  on  the  reader 
of  ten  pages  in  which  Mr.  Lowell  has  used  his  fine 
wit  in  severe  criticism,  often  on  trifling  matters 
and  even  on  a  low  plane,  leaving  Thoreau  under 
the  imputations  of  indolence  and  selfishness,  to 
pass  over  the  sweeping  assertions  that  he  had  no 


CHANN1NG.  115 

humor,  an  unhealthy  mind,  and  discovered  noth 
ing. 

It  may  well  be  that  the  young  Thoreau  in  his 
close  association,  under  the  same  roof  with  Mr. 
Emerson,  at  a  time  when  he  had  had  few  culti 
vated  companions,  may  have  unconsciously  acquired 
a  trick  of  voice,  or  even  of  expression,  and  it  would 
have  been  strange  if  the  village  youth  should  not 
have  been  influenced  by  the  older  thinker  for  a 
time,  but  legitimately,  as  Kaphael  by  Perugino. 
But  this  is  the  utmost  that  can  be  admitted  by  any 
person  who  really  knew  the  man.  Thoreau  was 
incapable  of  conscious  imitation.  His  faults,  if 
any,  lay  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction.  Both 
men  were  fearless  thinkers,  at  war  indeed  against 
many  of  the  same  usages,  and  interested  in  the 
emancipation  of  the  individual.  Both  went  to 
great  Nature  to  be  refreshed  and  inspired. 

There  was  another  lover  of  Nature,  a  poet  who 
should  have  been  an  artist,  who  while  talking  of 
poetry  carried  his  friend,  with  a  sure  eye  for  the 
very  flowering  of  the  beauty  of  each  season,  to  the 
very  point  at  which  alone  it  could  be  rightly  seen, 
and  on  the  halcyon  days.  I  will  give  here  a  chron 
icle  of  one  of  many  rambles  on  auspicious  Satur 
day  afternoons. 

October  28,  1848. 

Journal.  "  Another  walk  with  Ellery  Channing 
well  worth  commemoration,  if  that  were  possible ; 


116        EMERSON*  IN  CONCORD. 

but  no  pen  could  write  what  we  saw ;  it  needs  the 
pencils  of  all  the  painters  that  ever  existed  to  aid 
the  description.  We  went  to  White  Pond,  a  pretty 
little  Indian  bath,  lonely  now  as  Walden  once  was  ; 
we  could  almost  see  the  sachem  in  his  canoe  in  a 
shadowy  cove.  But  making  the  circuit  of  the  lake 
on  the  shore,  we  came  at  last  to  see  some  marvel 
lous  reflections  of  the  colored  woods  in  the  water, 
of  such  singular  beauty  and  novelty  that  they  held 
us  fast  to  the  spot  almost  to  the  going  down  of  the 
sun.  The  water  was  very  slightly  rippled,  which 
took  the  proper  character  from  the  pines,  birches 
and  few  oaks  which  composed  the  grove ;  and  the 
sub-marine  wood  seemed  all  made  of  Lombardy 
poplar  with  such  delicious  green,  stained  by  gleams 
of  mahogany  from  the  oaks  and  streaks  of  white 
from  the  birches,  every  moment  growing  more 
excellent;  it  was  the  world  seen  through  a  prism, 
and  set  Ellery  on  wonderful  Lucretian  theories  of 
*  law  and  design.' 

"  Ellery  as  usual  found  the  place  with  excellent 
judgment  '  where  your  house  should  be  set,'  leav 
ing  the  wood -paths  as  they  were,  which  no  art 
could  make  over ;  and,  after  leaving  the  pond,  and 
a  certain  dismal  dell,  whither  a  man  might  go  to 
shoot  owls  or  to  do  self-murder,  we  struck  across 
an  orchard  to  a  steep  hill  of  the  right  New  Hamp 
shire  slope,  newly  cleared  of  wood,  and  came  pres 
ently  into  rudest  woodland  landscapes,  unknown, 


WALK   WITH  CHANNING.  117 

undescribed  and  hitherto  unwalJced  by  us  Saturday 
afternoon  professors.  The  sun  was  setting  behind 
terraces  of  pines  disposed  in  groups  unimaginable 
by  Downings  or  London s,  or  Capability  Browns, 
but  we  kept  our  way  and  fell  into  the  Duganne 
trail,  as  we  had  already  seen  the  glimpse  of  his 
cabin  in  the  edge  of  the  barbarous  district  we  had 
traversed.  Through  a  clump  of  apple-trees,  over 
a  long  ridge  with  fair  outsight  of  the  river,  and 
across  the  Nut-Meadow  brook,  we  came  out  upon 
the  banks  of  the  river  just  below  James  Brown's. 
Ellery  proposed  that  we  should  send  the  Horticul 
tural  Society  our  notes,  '  Took  an  apple  near  the 
White  Pond  fork  of  the  Duganne  trail,  an  apple 
of  the  Beware  -  of-  this  variety,  a  true  Touch  -  me  - 
if-  you  -  dare,  —  Seek  -  no  -further  -  of-  this.  We 
had  much  talk  of  books  and  lands  and  arts  and 
farmers.  We  saw  the  original  tumulus  or  first  bar 
row  which  the  fallen  pine-tree  makes  with  its  up 
turned  roots,  and  which  after  a  few  years  precisely 
resembles  a  man's  grave.  We  talked  of  the  great 
advantage  which  he  has  who  can  turn  a  verse  over* 
all  the  human  race.  I  read  in  Wood's  "Athense 
Oxoniensis  "  a  score  of  pages  of  learned  nobodies, 
of  whose  once  odoriferous  reputations  not  a  trace 
remains  in  the  air,  and  then  I  came  to  the  name  of 
some  Carew,  Herrick,  Suckling,  Chapman,  whose 
name  is  as  fresh  and  modern  as  those  of  our  friends 
in  Boston  and  London,  and  all  because  they  could 


118  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

turn  a  verse.  Only  write  a  dozen  lines,  and  rest 
on  your  oars  forever ;  you  are  dear  and  necessary 
to  the  human  race  and  worth  all  the  old  trumpery 
Plutarchs  and  Platos  and  Bacons  of  the  world.  .  .  . 
Ellery  said  he  had  once  fancied  that  there  were 
some  amateur  trades,  as  politics,  but  he  found  there 
were  none ;  these  too  were  fenced  by  Whig  bar 
ricades.  Even  walking  could  not  be  done  by  ama 
teurs,  but  by  professors  only.  In  walking  with 
Ellery  you  shall  always  see  what  was  never  before 
shown  to  the  eye  of  man.  And  yet  for  how  many 
ages  of  lonely  days  has  that  pretty  wilderness  of 
White  Pond  received  the  sun  and  clouds  into  its 
transparencies  and  woven  each  day  new  webs  of 
birch  and  pine,  shooting  into  wilder  angles  and 
more  fantastic  crossing  of  these  coarse  threads, 
which,  in  the  water,  have  such  momentary  ele 
gance." 

A  remark  of  this  friend,  as  they  voyaged  on 
Concord  River,  seems  to  have  given  the  hint  for 
the  verse,  — 

"  Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 

Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there 

And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake." 

1846. 

Journal.  "  '  As  for  beauty,  I  need  not  look  be 
yond  an  oar's  length  for  my  fill  of  it ' :  I  do  not 


THE  HOAR  FAMILY.  119 

know  whether  he  used  the  expression  with  design 
or  no,  but  my  eye  rested  on  the  charming  play  of 
light  on  the  water  which  he  was  striking  with  his 
paddle.  I  fancied  I  had  never  seen  such  color, 
such  transparency,  such  eddies:  it  was  the  hue 
of  Rhine  wines,  it  was  jasper  and  verde-antique, 
topaz  and  chalcedony,  it  was  gold  and  green  and 
chestnut  and  hazel  in  bewitching  succession  and 
relief  without  cloud  or  confusion." 

With  Judge  Hoar  Mr.  Emerson  had  from  the 
early  days  of  his  Concord  residence  the  bond  of 
their  common  sister  (for  as  such  my  father  always 
regarded  Miss  Elizabeth  Hoar),  and  this  tie  the 
Judge  strengthened  by  his  character  and  by  his  con 
stant  friendship,  shown  at  need  by  acts  of  great 
kindness.  His  father,  the  Squire,  as  he  was  called 
in  all  this  region,  whose  austere  uprightness  called 
to  mind  the  image  of  a  senator  of  Rome  in  her  early 
days,  was  regarded  with  reverence  and  high  esteem 
by  Mr.  Emerson,  although  the  two  men  in  their 
tastes  and  sympathies  were  very  wide  apart. 

Journal.  "  The  beauty  of  character  takes  long 
time  to  discover.  "Who  that  should  come  to  Con 
cord  but  would  laugh  if  you  told  him  that  Samuel 
Hoar  was  beautiful  ?  Yet  I  thought  one  day,  when 
he  passed,  that  the  rainbow,  geometry  itself,  is 
not  handsomer  than  that  walking  sincerity,  strait 
bounded  as  it  is." 


120  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Over  the  Boston  road  in  the  coach,  and  later 
over  the  railway,  came  many  valued  friends,  some 
of  whom  prized  the  conversation  with  their  host, 
but  not  the  country  scenes  or  friends.  But  I  must 
mention  Agassiz,  whose  healthy,  manly  and  affec 
tionate  presence  was  always  as  agreeable  as  his 
wonderful  knowledge,  on  the  many  occasions  when 
he  came  to  lecture, —  always  refusing  to  receive 
the  smallest  compensation  from  the  Lyceum,  say 
ing  that  he  really  came  to  visit  his  friend,  and  the 
lecture  was  by  the  way.  This  kindly  man  of  sim 
ple  bearing  stood  one  of  Mr.  Emerson's  tests.  He 
writes  of  him  :  — 

"  He  is  a  man  to  be  thankful  for,  always  cordial, 
full  of  facts,  with  unsleeping  observation  and  per 
fectly  communicative.  .  .  .  What  a  harness  of 
buckram  city  life  and  wealth  puts  on  our  poets  and 
literary  men.  Alcott  complained  of  lack  of  simpli 
city  in  A ,  B ,  C and  D (late 

visitors  from  the  city),  and  Alcott  is  right  touch 
stone  to  test  them,  litmus  to  detect  the  acid. 
Agassiz  is  perfectly  accessible  ;  has  a  brave  man 
liness  which  can  meet  a  peasant,  a  mechanic,  or  a 
fine  gentleman  with  equal  fitness." 

There  were  among  Mr.  Emerson's  acquaintance 
two  men  of  business,  always  loyal  friends  to  him, 
for  whose  powers  and  resources  and  virtues  he  had 
great  regard.  The  first,  his  early  parishioner,  Mr. 
Abol  Adams,  who  died  in  1869  full  of  years  and 


JOHN  MURRAY  FORBES.  121 

virtues,  is  mentioned  several  times  in  this  narra 
tive.  Of  the  other,  Mr.  John  M.  Forbes,  I  cannot 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  inserting  his  friend's 
notice  in  his  journal,  on  a  return  from  a  visit  to 
him  in  his  island  home  in  Buzzard's  Bay  during 
the  last  year  of  the  war. 

«  October  12, 1864. 

"  Returned  from  Naushon,  whither  I  went  on 
Saturday,  8th,  with  Professor of  Oxford  Uni 
versity,  Mr. ,  ,  and  .  Mr.  Forbes 

at  Naushon  is  the  only  'Squire'  in  Massachu 
setts,  and  no  nobleman  ever  understood  or  per 
formed  his  duties  better.  I  divided  my  admiration 
between  the  landscape  of  Naushon  and  him.  He 
is  an  American  to  be  proud  of.  Never  was  such 
force,  good  meaning,  good  sense,  good  action  com 
bined  with  such  domestic  lovely  behavior,  and  such 
modesty  and  persistent  preference  of  others.  Wher 
ever  he  moves,  he  is  the  benefactor.  It  is  of  course 
that  he  should  shoot  well,  ride  well,  sail  well,  ad 
minister  railroads  well,  carve  well,  keep  house  well, 
but  he  was  the  best  talker  also  in  the  company, 
with  the  perpetual  practical  wisdom,  seeing  always 
the  working  of  the  thing,  —  with  the  multitude 
and  distinction  of  his  facts  (and  one  detects  contin 
ually  that  he  has  had  a  hand  in  everything  that  has 
been  done),  and  in  the  temperance  with  which  he 
parries  all  offence,  and  opens  the  eyes  of  his  in 
terlocutor  without  contradicting  him.  1  have  been 


122  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

proud  of  my  countrymen,  but  I  think  this  is  a  good 
country  that  can  breed  such  a  creature  as  John  M. 
Forbes.  There  was  something  dramatic  in  the 
conversation  of  Monday  night  between  Professor 

,  Forbes  and  ,  chiefly;  the  Englishman 

being  evidently  alarmed  at  the  near  prospect  of 
the  retaliation  of  America's  standing  in  the  identi 
cal  position  soon  in  which  England  now  and  lately 
has  stood  to  us,  and  playing  the  same  part  towards 
her.  Forbes,  a  year  ago,  was  in  Liverpool  and 
London  entreating  them  to  respect  their  own  neu 
trality,  and  disallow  the  piracy  and  the  blockade- 
running,  and  hard  measure  to  us  in  their  colonial 
ports,  etc.  And  now,  so  soon,  the  parts  were  en 
tirely  reversed  and  Professor was  showing  us 

the  power  and  irritability  of  England  and  the  cer 
tainty  that  war  would  follow  if  we  should  build 
and  arm  a  ship  in  one  of  our  ports,  send  her  out  to 
sea,  and  at  sea  sell  her  to  their  enemy,  which  would 
be  a  proceeding  strictly  in  accordance  with  her 
present  proclaimed  law  of  nations.  .  .  .  When  the 
American  Government  urged  England  to  make  a 
new  treaty  to  adjust  and  correct  this  anomalous 
rule,  the  English  Government  refused,  and  'tis 
only  ignorance  that  has  prevented  the  Rebel  Con 
federacy  from  availing  themselves  of  it. 

"  At  Naushon  I  recall  what  Captain  John  Smith 
said  of  the  Bermudas,  and  I  think  as  well  of  Mr. 
Forbes's  fences,  which  are  cheap  and  steep  — '  No 


JAMES  ELLIOT  CABOT.  123 

place  known  hath  better  walls  or  a  broader  ditch.' 
I  came  away  saying  to  myself  of  J.  M.  F.,  —  How 
little  this  man  suspects,  with  his  sympathy  for  men 
and  his  respect  for  lettered  and  scientific  people, 
that  he  is  not  likely  ever  to  meet  a  man  who  is 
superior  to  himself." 

One  friend,  early  known,  but  then  seldom  met, 
—  Mr.  James  Elliot  Cabot,  —  my  father  became 
acquainted  with  soon  after  the  latter  left  college 
and  entered  on  the  study  of  architecture,  and  was 
attracted  and  interested  by  his  character  and  con 
versation.  Mr.  Cabot  contributed  some  papers  to 
the  "  Dial,"  but  my  father  rarely  saw  him  until  after 
the  formation  of  the  Saturday  Club  when  they  met 
at  the  monthly  dinners,  and  indeed  a  principal  at 
traction  to  Mr.  Emerson  in  going  thither  was  the 
expectation  of  a  talk  with  his  friend.  For  years 
he  regretted  that  their  paths  so  seldom  came  to 
gether,  not  knowing  that  this  friend  was  kept  in 
reserve  to  lift  the  load  from  his  shoulders  in  his 
hour  of  need,  and  with  his  presence  and  generous 
aid  render  his  last  days  happy. 

For  eighteen  years  after  Mr.  Emerson  came  to 
his  Concord  home  his  mother  lived  with  him,  a 
serene  and  beautiful  presence  in  the  household, 
venerated  and  loved  by  her  son  and  daughters,  — 
for  Miss  Hoar,  who  should  have  been  her  son 
Charles's  wife,  shared  with  my  mother  the  privi- 


124  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

leges  of  a  daughter's  position.  Madam  Emerson's 
chamber,  the  room  over  the  study,  was  a  sort  of 
quiet  sanctuary.  There  the  grandchildren  were 
taught  to  read  Mrs.  Barbauld's  hymns  for  children. 
After  his  mother's  death  my  father  writes  :  "  Eliza 
beth  Hoar  said  the  reason  why  Mother's  chamber 
was  always  radiant  was  that  the  pure  in  heart  shall 
see  God,  and  she  wished  to  show  this  fact  to  the 
frivolous  little  woman  who  pretended  sympathy 
when  she  died." 

Her  son  had  her  in  mind,  among  others,  when 
he  wrote  :  "  Behold  these  sacred  persons,  born  of 
the  old  simple  blood,  to  whom  rectitude  is  native. 
See  them,  —  white  silver  amidst  the  bronze  popu 
lation,  —  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  —  I  know 
not  how  many  more,  but  conspicuous  as  fire  in  the 
night.  Each  of  them  can  do  some  deed  of  the 
Impossible." 

Madam  Emerson  died  in  1853.1 

The  gradual  increase  of  the  two-acre  lot  to  a 
little  farm  of  about  nine  acres,  by  the  purchase  of 
the  neighboring  lots  for  vegetable  garden,  orchard 

1  Journal,  1853.  "  Dr.  Frothingham  told  me  that  the  Latin 
verse  which  he  appended  to  the  obituary  notice  of  my  mother  was 
one  which  he  had  read  on  the  tomb  of  the  wife  of  Charlemagne, 
in  a  chapel  at  Mayence,  and  it  struck  him  as  very  tender  :  — 

"  Spiritus  hseres  sit  patriae  quee  tristia  nescit." 
"  Let  her  spirit  be  heir  to  the  land  which  knows  not  a  sorrow." 


THE   GARDEN  A  SNARE.  125 

and  pasture,  gave  Mr.  Emerson  pleasant  grounds, 
protected  his  study  from  interruptions  incident  to 
too  near  neighbors,  and  gave  him  usually  an  hour's 
exercise  a  day  in  the  care  of  his  growing  trees,  and 
incidentally  pleasure  and  health,  though  he  grudged 
the  time  from  his  in  -  door  tasks.  The  record  of 
these  purchases,  by  the  way,  and  the  terms  which 
I  find  scattered  through  the  account  books  are  an 
amusing  commentary  upon  his  alleged  shrewdness. 
Work  with  hoe  and  spade  for  an  hour  or  two  of 
the  day  was  part  of  his  plan  of  country  life,  and 
he  did  it  at  first,  but  soon  found  that  the  garden, 
with  all  its  little  beckoning  and  commanding  arms 
of  purslain  and  smart-weed  and  Roman  wormwood 
stretched  out,  was  all  too  strong  and  cunning  in 
detaining  him  from  his  proper  task. 

1847. 

Journal.  "  It  seems  often  as  if  rejection,  sturdy 
rejection  were  for  us  :  choose  well  your  part,  stand 
fast  by  your  task,  and  let  all  else  go  to  ruin  if  it 
will.  Then  instantly  the  malicious  world  changes 
itself  into  one  wide  snare  and  temptation,  —  escape 
it  who  can. 

"  With  brow  bent,  with  firm  intent,  I  go  musing 
in  the  garden  walk.  I  stoop  to  pull  up  a  weed 
that  is  choking  the  corn,  and  find  there  are  two ; 
close  behind  it  is  a  third,  and  I  reach  out  my  arm 
to  a  fourth ;  behind  that  there  are  four  thousand 
and  one.  I  am  heated  and  untuned,  and  by  and 


126  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

by  wake  up  from  my  idiot  dream  of  chickweed 
and  red-root,  to  find  that  I  with  adamantine  pur 
poses  am  chickweed  and  pipergrass  myself." 

The  help  of  a  gardener  was  found  essential  even 
at  first. 

1847. 

Journal.  "  In  an  evil  hour  I  pulled  down  my 
fence  and  added  Warren's  piece  to  mine ;  no  land 
is  bad,  but  land  is  worse.  If  a  man  own  land,  the 
land  owns  him.  Now  let  him  leave  home  if  he 
dare !  Every  tree  and  graft,  every  hill  of  melons, 
every  row  of  corn,  every  hedge-shrub,  all  he  has 
done  and  all  he  means  to  do  —  stand  in  his  way, 
like  duns,  when  he  so  much  as  turns  his  back  on 
his  house.  Then  the  devotion  to  these  vines  and 
trees  and  corn  hills  I  find  narrowing  and  poison 
ous.  I  delight  in  long,  free  walks.  These  free  my 
brain  and  serve  my  body.  Long  marches  would  be 
no  hardship  to  me.  My  frame  is  fit  for  them. 
I  think  I  compose  easily  so.  But  these  stoopings 
and  scrapings  and  fingerings  in  a  few  square  yards 
of  garden  are  dispiriting,  drivelling,  and  I  seem  to 
have  eaten  lotus,  to  be  robbed  of  all  energy,  and  I 
have  a  sort  of  catalepsy  or  unwillingness  to  move, 
and  have  grown  peevish  and  poor-spirited." 

His  friends,  Mr.  George  Bradford  and  Henry 
Thoreau,  at  different  times  and  during  their  stay 


THE  SUMMER-HOUSE.  127 

at  his  house,  took  the  care  of  the  garden  into  their 
skilful  hands,  greatly  to  his  relief,  though  he  came 
out  when  he  could  and  worked  with  them,  before 
the  addition  of  new  fields,  the  lots  whence  the 
thirty  cords  of  wood  for  the  fires  must  be  cut  and 
hauled  home,  and  the  purchase  of  a  horse  and  one 
or  two  cows  required  that  a  man  should  be  hired 
to  give  his  whole  time  and  attention  to  the  farm. 
This  was  a  relief  to  my  father,  but  there  had  been 
in  the  earlier  irregular  husbandry  much  to  gild  the 
drudgery  when  his  good  and  manly  friends,  whose 
greater  skill  and  practical  knowledge  of  the  garden 
he  admired,  worked  near  him.  His  friend  Chan- 
ning,  the  poet,  once  cut  his  wood  for  him,  and 
Thoreau  planted  his  barren  pasture,  close  by  the 
Walden  hermitage,  which  was  on  his  friend's  land, 
with  pines  and  larches,  and  Mr.  Alcott,  in  1847, 
fashioned  from  gnarled  limbs  of  pine,  oak  with 
knotty  excrescences  and  straight  trunks  of  cedar, 
a  fantastic  but  pleasing  structure,  some  hundred 
steps  from  the  house,  for  a  retired  study  for  his 
friend. 

In  this  work  he  was  helped  by  Mr.  Thoreau, 
whose  practical  mind  was  chafed  at  seeing  a  build 
ing,  with  no  plan,  feeling  its  way  up,  as  it  were, 
dictated  at  each  step  by  the  suggestion  of  the 
crooked  bough  that  was  used  and  necessarily  often 
altered.  He  said,  "I  feel  as  if  I  were  nowhere 
doing  nothing."  When  it  was  nearly  done  some 


128  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

one  said,  "  It  looks  like  a  church."  The  idea  was 
not  to  be  tolerated  by  the  transcendental  architect, 
so  the  porch  had  to  come  down  for  its  look  of  un 
timely  sanctimony. 

Thoreau  drove  the  nails,  and  drove  them  well, 
but  as  Mr.  Alcott  made  the  eaves  curve  upward  for 
beauty,  and  lined  the  roof  with  velvet  moss  and 
sphagnum.  Nature  soon  reclaimed  it.  Indeed 
Madam  Emerson  naively  called  it  "  The  Ruin  " 
when  it  was  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  builder. 
In  spite  of  its  real  beauty,  which  drew  many  peo 
ple  to  see  it,  the  draughts  (for  it  was  full  of  aper 
tures  for  doors  and  windows)  and  the  mosquitoes 
from  the  meadow  close  by  made  it  untenable,  and 
my  father  never  used  it  as  a  study. 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  in  a  later  journal  this  rec 
ord  of  graceful  services  done  by  John  Thoreau, 
the  older  brother  of  Henry  and  companion  of  the 
happy  river  voyage,  who  died  in  early  life. 

"  Long  ago  I  wrote  of  Gifts  and  neglected  a 
capital  example.  John  Thoreau,  Jr.,  one  day  put 
a  blue-bird's  box  on  my  barn,  —  fifteen  years  ago, 
it  must  be,  —  and  there  it  still  is,  with  every  sum 
mer  a  melodious  family  in  it,  adorning  the  place 
and  singing  his  praises.  There 's  a  gift  for  you 
which  cost  the  giver  no  money,  but  nothing  which 
he  bought  could  have  been  so  good. 

"I  think  of  another  quite  inestimable:  John 
Thoreau  knew  how  much  I  should  value  a  head  of 


LITTLE    WALDO.  129 

little  "Waldo,  then  five  years  old.  He  came  to 
ine  and  offered  to  take  him  to  a  daguerreotypist 
who  was  then  in  town,  and  he,  Thoreau,  would 
see  it  well  done.  He  did  it  and  brought  me  the 
daguerre,  which  I  thankfully  paid  for.  A  few 
months  after,  my  boy  died,  and  I  have  since  to 
thank  John  Thoreau  for  that  wise  and  gentle  piece 
of  friendship." 

The  serious  and  loving  little  boy,  whose  image 
was  thus  preserved,  followed  his  father  from  the 
study  to  the  garden  in  those  few  years  and  bright 
ened  all  the  hours.  His  solicitous  speech,  "Papa, 
I  am  afraid  you  will  dig  your  leg,"  has  been  else 
where  told  to  illustrate  Mr.  Emerson's  too  evident 
unhandiness  with  tools.  I  will  tell  here  another 
saying  of  little  Waldo  which  his  father  treasured 
as  showing  his  innate  refinement.  When  he  car 
ried  him  to  the  Circus  and  the  clown  played  his 
pranks  with  the  ring-master,  the  little  boy  looked 
up  with  troubled  eyes  and  said,  "  Papa,  the  funny 
man  makes  me  want  to  go  home." 

My  father  soon  found  that  his  personal  handling 
of  hoe  and  spade  was  too  expensive,  and  willingly 
laid  them  down,  and  although,  if  rain  threatened, 
he  would  come  out  to  the  hayfield  to  rake,  his 
gardening  was  confined,  within  my  recollection,  to 
pruning  his  trees  and  picking  up  pears  and  apples. 
In  his  wealth  of  Gravensteins  and  Pumpkin-Sweet 
ings,  Seckels,  Flemish  Beauties  and  Beurrd  Diels, 


130  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

he  took  delight  and  pride,  groaned  to  see  the  Sep 
tember  gale  rudely  throw  down  his  treasures  before 
the  "  Cattle  -  show  "  Exhibition,  and  always  sent 
thither  specimens  from  his  garden.  One  day  after 
this  exhibition  a  party  of  gentlemen  visited  his 
orchard  who  were  introduced  to  him  by  his  neigh 
bor,  Mr.  Bull,  as  a  committee  of  the  Massachusetts 
Horticultural  Society.  He  smiled  with  modest 
pride  at  having  his  little  orchard  thus  honored, 

but  the  Hon.  S D ,  the  chairman,  said, 

"Mr.  Emerson,  the  committee  have  called  to  see 
the  soil  which  produces  such  poor  specimens  of 
such  fine  varieties."  Perhaps  it  was  a  damp  year, 
and  in  that  low  land  the  pears  were  rusty,  but  in 
all  years  the  proprietor  saw  the  gold  through  the 
rust.  In  his  journal  he  answers  some  caviller  who 
has  said,  "Your  pears  cost  you  more  than  mine 
which  I  buy."  "  Yes,  they  are  costly,  but  we  all 
have  expensive  vices.  You  play  at  billiards,  I  at 
pear-trees."  He  likes*  to  note  that  kind  "  Nature 
never  makes  us  a  present  of  a  fine  fruit  or  berry, 
pear  or  peach  without  also  packing  up  along  with 
it  a  seed  or  two  of  the  same."  The  orchard  throve 
and  in  time  became  a  source  of  profit,  but  pears 
and  apples  were  to  him  more  than  so  many  bar 
rels  of  sweet  and  perfumed  pulp  to  eat  or  sell. 
He  read  in  Downing's  work  on  Fruit  Culture 
the  theory  of  Van  Mons,  of  taking  seedlings  in  a 
"state  of  amelioration"  and,  by  successive  plant- 


PEARS  AND  APPLES.  131 

ings  of  the  first  seeds  of  the  best,  surely  obtain 
ing  in  five  or  six  generations  a  superior  fruit,  a 
perfect  pear  from  a  harsh,  half-wild  fruit.  Here, 
as  everywhere,  Mr.  Emerson  found  new  evidence 
that  barriers  and  limitations  were  not  really,  but 
only  seemingly  fixed ;  that  rightly  aimed  effort 
could  break  them  down ;  that  all  nature  was  flow 
ing  and  there  was  always  room  for  hope. 

In  the  1842  Journal  he  writes :  "  Delight  in 
Van  Mons  and  his  pear  in  a  state  of  melioration  ; 
to  be  liquid  and  plastic,  —  that  our  reading  or  do 
ing  or  knowing  should  react  on  us,  that  is  all  in 
all." 

In  the  following  observation  too  he  saw  his  old 
and  favorite  law  of  compensation,  blessing  all  in 
time :  "  While  the  seeds  of  the  oldest  varieties  of 
good  fruits  mostly  yield  inferior  sorts,  seed  taken 
from  recent  varieties  of  bad  fruit  and  reproduced 
uninterruptedly  for  several  generations  will  cer 
tainly  produce  good  fruit." 

A  sentence,  perhaps  for  use  at  a  cattle-show  ad 
dress,  shows  what  apples  were  worth  to  him  :  — 

"  The  Newtown  Pippins,  gentlemen  ;  are  they  not 
the  Newton  Pippins  ?  or  is  not  this  the  very  pippin 
that  demonstrated  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton  the  fall  of 
the  world,  —  not  the  fall  of  Adam,  —  but  of  the 
moon  to  the  earth  and  of  universal  gravity  ?  Well, 
here  they  are,  a  barrel  of  them  ;  every  one  of  them 
good  to  show  gravitation  and  good  to  eat ;  every 


132  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

one  as  sound  as  the  moon.     What  will  you  give 
me  for  a  barrel  of  moons  ?  " 

He  delighted  in  the  use  of  his  lands  by  aborig 
inal  tenants,  Indians  or  gypsies,  when  they  wan 
dered  through  the  town,  or  older  and  wilder  ten 
ants  yet :  — 

"  The  sun  athwart  the  cloud  thought  it  no  sin 
To  use  my  land  to  put  his  rainbows  in." 

Though  from  the  gardener's  point  of  view  he 
marked  with  vindictive  eye  the  ravages  of  his  wife's 
roses  and  his  grapes  and  pluins  by  insects,  yet  his 
eye  was  always  open  for  beauty  in  humble  things, 
though  the  direction  of  the  motion  affected  its 
charm :  "  Rosebugs  and  wasps  appear  best  when 
flying :  they  sail  like  little  pinnaces  of  the  air.  I 
admired  them  most  when  flying  away  from  my 
garden" 

"  Solar  insect  on  the  wing 
In  the  garden  murmuring, 
Soothing  with  thy  summer  horn 
Swains  by  winter  pinched  and  worn." 

His  own  want  of  skill  in  conducting  farming 
operations  really  heightened  the  pleasure  he  took 
in  the  executive  ability  of  his  neighbors. 

1847. 

Journal.  "  My  young  friend  believed  his  call 
ing  to  be  musical,  yet  without  jewsharp,  catgut  or 
rosin.  Yes,  but  there  must  be  demonstration. 


CAPTAIN  ABEL'S  MEADOW.  133 

Look  over  the  fence  yonder  in  Captain  Abel's 
land.1  "  There  's  a  musician  for  you,  who  knows 
how  to  make  men  dance  for  him  in  all  weathers ; 
and  all  sorts  of  men,  paddies,  felons,  farmers,  car 
penters,  painters,  yes,  and  trees  and  grapes  and 
ice  and  stone,  hot  days  and  cold  days.  Beat  that, 
Menetrier  de  Mendau,  if  you  can.  Knows  how 
to  make  men  saw,  dig,  mow  and  lay  stone -wall, 
and  how  to  make  trees  bear  fruit  God  never  gave 
them,  and  grapes  from  France  and  Spain  yield 
pounds  of  clusters  at  his  door.  He  saves  every 
drop  of  sap  as  if  it  were  his  own  blood.  His 
trees  are  full  of  brandy,  you  would  think  he  wa 
tered  them  with  wine.  See  his  cows,  see  his  swine, 
see  his  horses,  —  and  he,  the  musician  that  plays 
the  jig  which  they  all  must  dance,  biped  and  quad 
ruped  and  centipede,  is  the  plainest  stupidest  look- 

1  This  passage  is  printed  and  by  mistake  attributed  to  Thoreau 
by  Mr.  Sanborn  in  his  Life  of  Thoreau.  Mr.  Emerson  and  his 
Concord  friends  seem  to  have  now  and  then  submitted  to  each 
other  scraps  of  their  recent  writing  on  stray  sheets.  They  also 
copied  some  of  these  passages  that  chanced  to  please  them.  Thus 
mistakes  have  occurred  in  publishing  their  posthumous  writings. 
The  above  passage  however  is  certainly  by  Mr.  Emerson  and 
occurs  in  this  form  in  his  journal,  C  D,  for  1847. 

The  little  Essay  on  Prayers  included,  in  good  faith,  in  The 
Yankee  in  Canada,  and  Other  Papers  of  Mr.  Thoreau,  posthu 
mously  published,  was  written  by  Mr.  Emerson  and  first  published 
in  the  Dial  It  included  a  prayer  in  verse  written  by  Mr.  Thoreau, 
and  the  mistake  occurred  very  naturally,  as  a  copy  of  the  whole 
paper  in  Thoreau' s  handwriting  was  found  among  his  papers. 


134  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ing  harlequin  in  a  coat  of  no  colors.  But  his  are 
the  woods  and  the  waters,  the  hills  and  meadows. 
With  a  stroke  of  his  instrument  he  danced  a 
thousand  tons  of  gravel  from  yonder  blowing  sand 
heap  on  to  the  bog-meadow  beneath  us  where  now 
the  English  grass  is  waving  ;  with  another  he  ter 
raced  the  sand-hill  and  covered  it  with  peaches 
and  grapes ;  with  another  he  sends  his  lowing 
cattle  every  spring  up  to  Peterboro'  to  the  moun 
tain  pastures." 

"  Cyrus  Stow  wanted  his  bog  meadow  brought 
into  grass.  He  offered  Antony  Colombo,  Sol  Weth- 
erbee,  and  whosoever  else,  seed  and  manure  and 
team  and  the  whole  crop ;  which  they  accepted 
and  went  to  work,  and  reduced  the  tough  roots,  the 
tussocks  of  grass,  the  uneven  surface  and  gave  the 
whole  field  a  good  rotting  and  breaking  and  sun 
ning,  and  now  he  finds  no  longer  any  difficulty  in 
getting  good  English  grass  from  the  smooth  and 
friable  land.  What  Stow  does  with  his  field,  what 
the  Creator  does  with  his  planet,  the  Yankees  are 
now  doing  with  America.  It  will  be  friable,  arable, 
habitable  to  men  and  angels  yet !  " 

But  the  exigencies  of  the  farm  brought  him  into 
constant  relation  with  his  immediate  neighbors,  a 
circumstance  agreeable  to  him  and  always,  I  think, 
to  them,  and  whether  the  farm  might  prosper  or 
no,  as  a  result,  one  crop  he  certainly  harvested ;  all 


CONCORD  FARMERS.  135 

was  grist  that  came  to  his  mill.  He  admired  the 
simplicity  and  fortitude  of  the  Massachusetts  far 
mers'  life  in  those  days  and  to  see  and  record  the 
stern  rustic  economies. 

"  The  farmer  gets  two  hundred  dollars  while  the 
merchant  gets  two  thousand.  But  the  farmer's 
two  hundred  is  far  safer  and  is  more  likely  to 
remain  to  him.  It  was  heavy  to  lift  from  the  soil, 
but  it  was  for  that  reason  more  carefully  bestowed 
and  will  stay  where  it  was  put,  so  that  the  two  sums 
turn  out  at  last  to  be  equivalent." 

After  the  railroad  came  and  brought  Concord 
practically  as  near  to  the  city  as  Cambridge  had 
been,  changed  the  old  corn-and-pumpkin  farming, 
with  oxen  for  working  cattle,  to  modern  "  Sauce- 
gardening  "  with  improved  implements  and  horse- 
machinery,  and  the  town,  instead  of  living  mainly 
its  own  life,  became  largely  a  sleeping-place  for 
persons  who  exercised  their  professions  or  business 
in  Boston,  he  notices  that  the  young  men  have  an 
amateur  air  that  their  fathers  never  had ;  (1848) 
"  they  look  as  if  they  might  be  railroad  agents 
any  day.  We  shall  never  see  Cyrus  Hubbard  or 
Ephraim  Wheeler  or  Grass-and-oats  or  Oats-and- 
grass,  old  Barrett  or  Hosmer  in  the  next  genera 
tion.  These  old  Saxons  have  the  look  of  pine-trees 
and  apple-trees,  and  might  be  the  sons  got  between 
the  two  ;  conscientious  laborers  with  a  science  born 
in  them  from  out  the  sap-vessels  of  these  savage 


136  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

He  saw  with  awe  and  veneration  the  equality  of 
the  farmer  to  his  task  and  his  bending  the  appar 
ently  crushing  forces  of  Nature  to  work  for  him,  — 
triumphs  through  obedience.  "We  cannot  quite 
pull  down  and  degrade  our  life  and  divest  it  of  its 
poetry.  The  day-laborer  is  popularly  reckoned  as 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  social  scale ;  yet  talk 
with  him,  he  is  saturated  with  the  beautiful  laws  of 
the  world.  His  measures  are  the  hours,  the  morn 
ing  and  night,  the  solstice,  and  the  geometry,  the 
astronomy  and  all  the  lovely  accidents  of  nature 
play  through  his  mind  continual  music." 

"  He  planted  where  the  Deluge  ploughed, 
His  hired  hands  were  wind  and  cloud, 
His  eye  detects  the  gods  concealed 
In  the  hummock  of  the  field." 

When  in  1857  Mr.  Emerson  was  invited  to  give 
the  annual  address  before  the  Middlesex  Agricul 
tural  Society,  his  speech,  then  called,  "  The  Man 
with  the  Hoe "  (since  printed  under  the  title 
"  Farming  "),  showed  that  if  not  skilful  with  the 
implement  itself,  he  had  not  lived  in  the  country 
in  vain,  and  had  seen  and  recognized  the  great  lines 
on  which  the  farmer  must  lay  out  his  year's  work. 

Mr.  Edmund  Hosmer,  a  farmer  of  the  older 
New  England  type,  thrifty  and  sturdy,  conserva 
tive  yet  independent,  was  Mr.  Emerson's  neighbor 
for  many  years,  and  during  that  time  his  adviser 
and  helper  in  his  rustic  affairs.  For  his  character 


NEIGHBORS.  137 

and  opinion  Mr.  Emerson  had  great  respect,  and  in 
his  walks  he  liked  to  go  by  Mr.  Hosmer's  farm  and 
find  him  ploughing  in  his  field  where  they  would 
have  a  chat  on  matters  of  agriculture,  politics  or 
philosophy.  One  of  these  conversations  is  reported 
in  the  "  Dial "  under  title  Agriculture  of  Massa 
chusetts. 

Close  by  his  house,  on  the  slope  of  the  opposite 
hill,  lived  George  Minot,  a  descendant  of  one  of  the 
early  Concord  families,  —  dying  out  in  the  male  line 
with  him,  one  who  had  never  been  in  the  railroad 
cars,  nor  but  once  in  Boston,  when  with  the  Con 
cord  company  he  marched  there  in  1812,  but  one 
who  knew  Concord  field  and  forest  by  heart,  —  a 
man  somewhat  of  the  Rip  van  Winkle  type,  then 
more  common  in  Concord  than  now,  who,  though 
he  kept  a  cow  and  raised  corn  and  "  crook-necks  " 
in  his  little  field,  eked  out  the  larder  of  himself 
and  his  sister,  the  village  tailoress,  with  duck  and 
partridges,  horn-pout  and  pickerel.  He  valued  and 
took  much  leisure,  and  liked  to  gossip  with  Mr. 
Emerson  over  the  fence  about  "  the  old  bow-arrow 
times  "  when,  as  he  averred  he  had  heard  from  the 
fathers,  deer  and  otter  and  raccoons  were  common 
in  Concord  and  moose  had  been  shot  here. 

"  Here  is  George  Minot,  not  so  much  a  citizen 
as  a  part  of  nature,  in  perfect  rapport  with  the 
trout  in  the  stream,  the  bird  in  the  wood  or  pond- 
side  and  the  plant  in  the  garden ;  whatsoever  is 


138  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

early  or  rare  or  nocturnal,  game  or  agriculture, 
lie  knows,  being  awake  when  others  sleep,  or  asleep 
when  others  wake  :  snipe,  pelican,  or  breed  of 
hogs ;  or  grafting  or  cutting ;  woodcraft  or  bees." 

In  later  years  Mr.  Emerson  had  the  fortune  to 
have  Mr.  Sam  Staples  as  a  neighbor,  who  with  his 
varied  gifts  and  experiences  as  ex-jailer,  auction 
eer,  skilful  modern  farmer  and  sensible,  friendly 
man  was  a  tower  of  strength,  whether  there  were 
suspicious  tramps  around,  or  carryall  or  cow  must 
be  bought,  a  man  or  horse  or  farm  implement  to  be 
borrowed,  or  advice  on  any  practical  subject  was 
required.  He  gives  Mr.  Emerson  the  character  of 
a  "  first  rate  neighbor  and  one  who  always  kept  his 
fences  up,"  and  I  know  that  my  father  was  always 
sure  of  finding  hearty  help  in  any  emergency,  great 
or  small,  from  this  best  of  neighbors. 

1866. 

Journal.  "  I  like  my  neighbor  T.'s  manners  : 
he  has  no  deference,  but  a  good  deal  of  kindness, 
so  that  you  see  that  his  good  offices  come  from  no 
regard  for  you,  but  purely  from  his  character." 

"  Self  respect  always  commands.  I  see  it  here 
in  a  family  little  known,  but  each  of  whose  mem 
bers,  without  other  gifts  or  advantages  above  the 
common,  have  that  in  lieu  of  all:  teaching  that 
wealth,  fashion,  learning,  talent,  garden,  fine  house, 
servants,  can  be  omitted,  if  you  have  quiet  deter- 


CONCORD  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.  139 

urination  to  keep  your  own  way  with  good  sense 
and  energy.  The  best  of  it  is  that  the  family  I 
speak  of  do  not  suspect  the  fact." 

He  was  blessed  with  many  good  neighbors,  more 
than  can  be  properly  named  here,  and  his  experi 
ence  led  him  to  write  :  — 

"  1842. 

"  Those  of  us  who  do  not  believe  in  communities 
believe  in  neighborhoods,  and  that  the  Kingdom  of 

Heaven  may  consist  of  such." 

1836. 

Journal.  "Talking  last  night  with  E.  H.,  I 
sought  to  illustrate  the  sunny  side  of  every  man, 
as  compared  with 'his  sour  and  pompous  side,  by 
the  two  entrances  of  all  our  Concord  houses.  The 
front  door  is  very  fair  to  see,  painted  green,  with  a 
knocker,  but  it  is  always  bolted,  and  you  might  as 
well  beat  on  the  wall  as  tap  there  ;  but  the  farmer 
slides  round  the  house  into  a  quiet  back  door  that 
admits  him  at  once  to  his  warm  fireside  and  loaded 
table." 

A  few  anecdotes  scattered  through  the  journals 
will  properly  enough  find  place  in  the  Book  of  the 
Social  Circle  and  recall  to  the  senior  members  pic 
tures  and  figures  of  the  Concord  of  their  youth. 

George  Minot  told  my  father  of  old  Abel  Davis's 
visit  to  Temple,  New  Hampshire,  and  how  one  day 
while  fishing  there  he  pulled  up  a  monstrous  pick- 


140  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

erel.  "  Wall,"  said  he,  "  who  'd  ever  ha'  thought 
of  finding  you  up  here  in  Temple  ?  You  an'  a 
slice  o'  pork  will  make  Viny  and  me  a  good  break 
fast." 

Another  neighbor  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind 
thus  criticised  the  working  of  the  solar  system  :  — 

"This  afternoon  the  eclipse.  Peter  Howe  did 
not  like  it,  for  his  rowan  would  not  make  hay ; 
and  he  said  '  the  sun  looked  as  if  a  nigger  was  put 
ting  his  head  into  it.' " 

As  this  forcible,  though  unpoetic  imagery 
amused  Mr.  Emerson,  so,  as  an  optimist,  he  was 
struck  by  the  strong  counter-statement  of  a  Con 
cord  worthy,  of  other  days,  that  "mankind  was 
a  damned  rascal."  He  quotes  another  as  saying 
that  "  his  son  might,  if  he  pleased,  buy  a  gold 
watch ;  it  did  not  matter  much  what  he  did  with 
his  money ;  he  might  put  it  on  his  back :  for  his 
part,  he  thought  it  best  to  put  it  down  his  neck 
and  get  the  good  of  it." 

He  notes  that  the  "  elective  affinities  "  work  in 
Concord  as  elsewhere  :  — 

"  Old  X.  was  never  happy  but  when  he  could 
fight.  Y.  was  the  right  person  to  marry  into  his 
family.  He  was  n't  the  worst  man  you  ever  saw, 
but  brother  to  him." 

His  doctrine  of  Compensation  receives  fresh  il 
lustration  in  the  remark  of  his  friend  about  one  of 
those  amphibious  persons,  now,  I  fear,  extinct  on 
the  shores  of  the  Musketaquid. 


HEROES  OF  OTHER  DAYS.       141 

"  Charming  said  he  would  never,  were  he  an  in 
surer,  insure  any  life  that  had  any  infirmity  of 
goodness  in  it.  It  is  Goodwin  who  will  catch  pick 
erel  :  if  you  have  any  moral  traits  you  will  never 
get  a  bite." 

"  Henry  Thoreau  told  me  as  we  walked  this  after 
noon  a  good  story  about  a  boy  who  went  to  school 
with  him,  Wentworth,  who  resisted  the  school  mis 
tress's  command  that  the  children  should  bow  to 
Dr.  Heywood  and  other  gentlemen  as  they  went 
by,  and  when  Dr.  Heywood  stood  waiting  and 
cleared  his  throat  with  a  Hem !  Wentworth  said, 
4  You  need  not  hem,  Doctor,  I  shan't  bow.' ' 

"  Deacon  Parknian,  Thoreau  tells,  lived  in  the 
house  he  now  occupies  and  kept  a  store  close  by. 
He  hung  out  a  salt  fish  for  a  sign,  and  it  hung  so 
long,  and  grew  so  hard  and  black  and  deformed 
that  the  deacon  forgot  what  thing  it  was,  and  no 
body  in  town  knew,  but  being  examined  chemically 
it  proved  to  be  salt  fish.  But  duly  every  morning 
the  deacon  hung  it  on  its  peg." 

He  records  old  Mr.  Wesson  the  tavern-keeper's 
philosophical  distinction,  when  he  said,  "  I  thought 
I  was  asleep,  but  I  knowed  I  was  n't ;  "  and  the  self- 
restraint  and  caution  of  another  village  magnate, 
who,  reading  his  newspaper  in  the  grocery,  always 
carefully  read  the  passage  through  three  times  be 
fore  venturing  a  comment  to  his  neighbors.  An 
other  loyal  Concord  man,  B.,  the  carpenter,  reading 


142  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

of  the  price  of  building-lots  in  rising  Chicago,  said, 
"  Can't  hardly  believe  that  any  lands  can  be  worth 
so  much  money,  so  far  off." 

In  those  days  the  last  struggles  were  going  on 
between  the  stage-coach  and  freight  team  against 
their  terrible  rival  the  railroad  train. 

"  The  teamsters  write  on  their  teams,  « No  mo 
nopoly,  Old  Union  Line,  Fitchburg,  Groton,  etc.' 
On  the  guide-boards  they  paint,  « Free  trade  and 
teamsters'  rights.' ' 

When  the  wave  of  excitement  stirred  up  by  the 
"  Kochester  knockings,"  attributed  to  departed 
spirits,  struck  Concord  (not  with  any  force,  how 
ever),  the  communications  of  the  "  spirits  "  seemed 
hardly  to  justify  their  importunity.  Mr.  Emerson 
spoke  of  it  as  the  "  rat  and  mouse  revelation,"  and 
said  of  the  local  prophets,  quoting  the  speech  of 
Hotspur  to  his  wife  when  she  begs  for  his  secret, 
promising  not  to  reveal  it :  — 

"  For  I  well  believe 

Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, 
And  thus  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate." 

Mr.  Emerson  cheerfully  assumed  such  duties  as 
the  town  put  upon  him.  Almost  immediately  on 
his  coming  to  Concord  he  was  chosen  a  member  of 
the  School  Committee,  and  later  he  served  on  it  for 
many  years.  He  never  felt  that  he  had  the  small 
est  executive  ability,  and  on  the  village  committee, 


VISITS  TO   THE  SCHOOLS.  143 

as  later  on  the  Board  of  Overseers  of  the  Univer 
sity,  he  preserved  an  unduly  modest  attitude,  sel 
dom  speaking,  but  admiring  the  working  and  rea 
soning  of  others.  Declamation  and  reading  always 
interested  him,  and  for  them  he  would  speak  his 
best  word  at  committee  meetings  or  school  exhibi 
tions.  When  he  went  to  visit  a  school  he  forgot 
that  he  was  an  inspector,  and  became  a  learner. 
Here  is  a  characteristic  entry  in  the  journal  for 
1854.  (The  italics  are  mine.) 

"  The  way  that  young  woman  keeps  her  school 
was  the  best  lesson  I  received  at  the  Preparatory 
School  to-day.  She  knew  so  much  and  carried  it 
so  well  in  her  head  and  gave  it  out  so  well  that  the 
pupils  had  quite  enough  to  think  of  and  not  an  idle 
moment  to  waste  in  noise  or  disorder.  'T  is  the 
best  recipe  I  know  for  school  discipline." 

The  sight  of  clear-eyed  girls  and  manly  boys  was 
sure  to  awaken  his  affectionate  interest,  and  a  good 
recitation  of  a  poem  never  failed  to  move  him  and 
make  him  wish  to  know  more  of  the  young  speaker. 

"  I  told  the  school  company  at  the  Town  Hall 
this  afternoon  that  I  felt  a  little  like  the  old  gen 
tleman  who  had  dandled  ten  sons  and  daughters  of 
his  own  in  succession  on  his  knee,  and  when  his 
grandchild  was  brought  to  him,  '  No,'  he  said,  *  he 
had  cried  Kitty,  Kitty,  long  enough.'  And  yet 
when  I  heard  now  these  recitations  and  exercises 
I  was  willing  to  feel  new  interest  still.  ...  I 


144  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

suggested  for  the  encouragement,  or  the  warn 
ing,  of  the  parents,  my  feeling  to-day  that  the  new 
generation  was  an  improved  edition  of  the  adult. 
...  In  conclusion  I  said  that  it  was  plain  that  the 
end  of  the  institutions  of  the  town  and  the  town 
itself  was  Education." 

Here  are  notes  of  another  appeal  to  his  towns 
men  to  prize  their  schools  :  — 

"  First  see  that  the  expense  be  for  teaching,  or 
that  the  school  be  kept  for  the  greatest  number  of 
days  and  of  scholars.  Then  that  the  best  teachers 
and  the  best  apparatus  be  provided.  .  .  .  School, 
—  because  it  is  the  cultus  of  our  time  and  place, 
fit  for  the  republic,  fit  for  the  times,  which  no 
longer  can  be  reached  and  commanded  by  the 
Church. 

"  What  an  education  in  the  public  spirit  of  Mas 
sachusetts  has  been  —  the  war  songs,  speeches  and 
reading  of  the  schools  !  Every  district-school  has 
been  an  anti-slavery  convention  for  two  or  three 
years  last  past. 

"  This  town  has  no  sea-port,  no  cotton,  no  shoe- 
trade,  no  water-power,  no  gold,  lead,  coal  or  rock- 
oil,  no  marble  ;  nothing  but  wood  and  grass,  —  not 
even  ice  and  granite,  our  New  England  staples, 
for  the  granite  is  better  in  Acton  and  Fitchburg, 
and  our  ice,  Mr.  Tudor  said,  had  bubbles  in  it. 
"We  are  reduced  then  to  manufacture  school-teach 
ers,  which  we  do  for  the  southern  and  western  mar- 


THE  PLAY-GROUND.  145 

ket.  I  advise  the  town  to  stick  to  that  staple  and 
make  it  the  best  in  the  world.  It  is  your  lot  in  the 
urn ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  commanding  lots.  Get 
the  best  apparatus,  the  best  overseer,  and  turn  out 
the  best  possible  article.  Mr.  Agassiz  says,  '  I 
mean  to  make  the  Harvard  Museum  such  that  no 
European  naturalist  can  afford  to  stay  away  from 
it.'  Let  the  town  of  Concord  say  as  much  for  its 
school.  We  will  make  our  schools  such  that  no 
family  which  has  a  new  home  to  choose  can  fail 
to  be  attracted  hither  as  to  the  one  town  in  which 
the  best  education  can  be  secured.  This  is  one  of 
those  long  prospective  economies  which  is  sure  and 
remunerative." l 

Always  believing  that  "  evil  is  only  good  in  the 
making,"  and  mischief  useful  energy  run  wild,  he 
says,  "  There  is  no  police  so  effective  as  a  good  hill 
and  wide  pasture  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  vil 
lage  where  the  boys  can  run  and  play  and  dispose 
of  their  superfluous  strength  of  spirits  to  their 
own  delight  and  the  annoyance  of  nobody,"  and  in 

1  In  this  speech,  made  in  the  last  year  of  the  war,  he  did  not 
use  the  word  Teacher  in  a  restricted  sense.  For  he  thought  of 
all  Concord's  sons  and  daughters  who  had  gone  forth  from  the 
village,  —  whether  carrying  learning  in  spelling-books  and  read 
ers,  or  freedom  and  equal  rights  on  bayonets,  or  commerce  on 
railroads,  or  New  England  thrift  and  orderly  life  in  their  exam 
ple,  —  as  sowing  broadcast  through  the  land  seeds  of  virtue  and 
civility. 


146  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

his  last  years  he  was  readily  interested  in  a  plan 
for  procuring  a  public  play-ground  and  laid  aside 
a  sum  of  money  towards  it.  He  served  on  the 
Library  Committee  for  many  years,  and  when  Mr. 
William  Munroe  made  his  noble  gift  to  the  town 
of  the  Library  Building,  Mr.  Emerson  made  the 
address  on  the  occasion  of  its  opening. 

In  1839  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Social 
Circle.  This  gave  him  opportunity  to  meet  socially 
and  in  his  turn  to  entertain  many  of  his  townsmen 
with  whom  otherwise  from  his  secluded  habits  and 
scholarly  pursuits  he  would  hardly  have  formed 
acquaintance. 

In  1844  (Dec.  17th)  he  writes  to  a  friend 
in  Boston :  "  Much  the  best  society  I  have  ever 
known  is  a  club  in  Concord  called  the  Social  Cir 
cle,  consisting  always  of  twenty-five  of  our  citizens, 
doctor,  lawyer,  farmer,  trader,  miller,  mechanic, 
etc.,  solidest  of  men,  who  yield  the  solidest  of  gos 
sip.  Harvard  University  is  a  wafer  compared  to 
the  solid  land  which  my  friends  represent.  I  do 
not  like  to  be  absent  from  home  on  Tuesday  even 
ings  in  winter." 

His  long  lecturing  trips  to  the  West  prevented 
his  attending  meetings  so  much  as  he  would  have 
liked.  He  was  for  forty-three  years  a  member; 
the  last  meeting  he  attended  being  the  celebration 
of  the  hundredth  year  of  the  existence  of  the  club 
which  occurred  only  a  month  before  his  death.  He 
was  then  the  senior  member. 


TEE  CONCORD  LECTURES.  147 

Although  few  of  the  townspeople  knew  —  what 
I  am  sure  even  the  few  extracts  from  his  journals 
here  introduced  show  —  with  what  human  interest 
he  watched  them,  how  he  praised  the  wit,  or  cour 
age  or  skill  of  the  seniors,  and  delighted  in  the 
beauty  or  sturdiness  of  the  girls  and  boys  that 
passed  him  daily,  yet  his  relation  to  the  town  first 
and  last  was  pleasant.  In  speaking  to  his  towns 
folk  in  the  Lyceum  he  never  wrote  down  to  them, 
but  felt  them  entitled  to  his  best  thoughts. 

"  Do  not  cease  to  utter  them,"  he  says  to  him 
self,  "and  make  them  as  pure  of  all  dross  as  if 
thou  wert  to  speak  to  sages  and  demi-gods,  and  be 
no  whit  ashamed  if  not  one,  yea,  not  one  in  the 
assembly,  should  give  sign  of  intelligence.  Is  it 
not  pleasant  to  you  —  unexpected  wisdom  ?  depth 
of  sentiment  in  middle  life  ?  persons  that  in  the 
thick  of  the  crowd  are  true  kings  and  gentlemen 
without  the  harness  and  the  envy  of  the  throne  ?  " 

He  held  to  the  faith  that  all  "  differences  are 
superficial,  that  they  all  have  one  fundamental 
nature,"  which  it  was  for  him  to  find  and  awaken. 
And  his  confidence  was  justified.  In  a  paper  full 
of  interesting  reminiscences  Mr.  Albee  mentions 
talking  with  a  Concord  farmer  who  said  he  had 
heard  all  Mr.  Emerson's  lectures  before  the  Ly 
ceum  and  added  —  "  and  understood  'em  too." 

But  I  must  also  tell  that  Mrs.  Storer  relates  that 
her  mother,  Madam  Hoar,  seeing  Ma'am  Bemis,  a 


148  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

neighbor  who  came  in  to  work  for  her,  drying  her 
hands  and  rolling  down  her  sleeves  one  afternoon 
somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  asked  her  if  she  was 
going  so  soon  :  "  Yes,  I  've  got  to  go  now.  I  'm 
going  to  Mr.  Emerson's  lecture."  "  Do  you  under 
stand  Mr.  Emerson  ?  "  "  Not  a  word,  but  I  like  to 
go  and  see  him  stand  up  there  and  look  as  if  he 
thought  every  one  was  as  good  as  he  was." 

A  lady  tells  me  that  after  Mr.  Emerson  had 
given  his  lecture  on  Plato  (later  printed  in  "  Rep 
resentative  Men")  in  Concord,  she  overtook  on 
her  way  homewards  a  worthy  but  literal-minded  old 
lady  and  began  to  speak  of  the  lecture  they  had 
just  heard.  But  her  neighbor  was  displeased  and 
said  that  "  if  those  old  heathen  really  did  such 
things  as  Mr.  Emerson  said  they  did,  the  less  said 
about  them  the  better."  The  offending  passage 
was  this.  (The  italics  are  mine.) 

"  Plato  especially  has  no  external  biography. 
If  he  had  lover,  wife,  or  children,  we  hear  nothing 
of  them.  He  ground  them  into  paint.  As  a  good 
chimney  burns  its  smoke,  so  a  philosopher  converts 
the  value  of  all  his  fortunes  into  his  intellectual 
performances." 

The  town  called  upon  him  to  speak  for  her  on 
her  great  days.  Having  in  1835  told  the  story  of 
the  godly  and  earnest  men  who  settled  and  stab- 
lished  the  town  and  of  those  who  defended  its  soil 


FRIENDLY  TOWNSFOLK.  149 

from  the  oppressor,  and  two  years  later  at  the  dedi 
cation  of  the  Battle  Monument  compressed  that 
chronicle  into  the  few  simple  lines  of  the  Hymn,  it 
fell  to  him  to  tell  how  the  grandsons  of  those 
patriots  had  been  true  in  their  hour  of  trial,  when 
in  1867  the  monument  was  built  to  those  who  did 
not  return.  Last,  in  his  failing  years,  he  spoke  a 
few  words  as  the  bronze  Minute  Man  took  his  stand 
to  guard  through  the  centuries  the  North  Bridge 
then  restored. 

The  people  of  the  village  felt  his  friendly  and 
modest  attitude  towards  them  and  were  always 
kind.  Is  it  not  written  in  our  Book  of  Chronicles 
what  effective  and  speedy  action  was  taken  in  the 
silent  night  by  who  shall  say  how  many  of  the  past 
and  present  venerable  members  of  the  Social  Cir 
cle,  when  the  only  bad  neighbor  he  ever  had  sought 
to  blackmail  Mr.  Emerson  by  moving  an  unsightly 
building  on  to  the  lot  before  his  house  ? l  And  at 
the  burning  of  his  house  what  a  multitude  of  good 
men  and  women  came  with  speed  and  worked  with 
zeal  to  help  and  to  save,  in  some  cases  at  peril  of 
their  lives. 

And  in  his  later  days,  when  his  powers  began  to 

1 A  number  of  the  youths  of  Concord  procured  hooks,  ropes 
and  ladder,  and,  uniformed  in  green  baize  jackets  lent  from  Mr. 
Rice's  store,  silently  marched  in  the  night  to  the  spot,  pulled  the 
old  frame  down  with  a  crash,  and  withdrew  with  some  speed, 
vainly  pursued  by  the  enraged  owner. 


150  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

fail  and  words  failed  him  and  he  became  bewil 
dered,  how  often  he  found  helpers  and  protectors 
start  from  the  ground,  as  it  were,  at  his  need. 

In  all  his  forty-eight  years'  life  in  the  village  I 
do  not  believe  he  ever  encountered  any  incivility 
or  indignity,  except  in  one  trifling  instance,  which 
I  shall  tell,  not  as  indicating  any  ill  will,  for  it  was 
the  act  of  two  or  three  idle  hangers-on  of  the  bar 
room,  but  because  it  gives  an  interesting  picture. 
It  was  the  practice  of  the  bar-room  wits  to  revenge 
themselves  for  Dr.  Bartlett's  courageous  and  sin 
cere  war  upon  their  temple  and  inspiring  spirit,  by 
lampooning  him  in  doggerel  verse  and  attributing 
his  florid  complexion  to  other  causes  than  riding  in 
all  weathers  in  the  humane  service  of  his  neighbors. 
One  morning  there  was  a  sign  hung  out  at  the 
Middlesex  stable  with  inscription  insulting  to  Dr. 
Bartlett.  Mr.  Emerson  came  down  to  the  Post 
Office,  stopped  beneath  the  sign,  read  it  (watched 
with  interest  by  the  loafers  at  tavern,  grocery  and 
stables)  and  did  not  leave  the  spot  till  he  had 
beaten  it  down  with  his  cane,  and,  I  think,  broken 
it.  In  the  afternoon  when  I  went  to  school  I 
remember  my  mortification  at  seeing  a  new  board 
hanging  there  with  a  painting  of  a  man  with  tall 
hat,  long  nose  and  hooked  cane  raised  aloft,  and, 
lest  the  portrait  might  not  be  recognized,  the  in 
scription,  "Rev.  R.  W.  E.  knocking  down  the 
Sign."  He  did  not  immediately  find  a  champion 


SERVANTS.  151 

and  the  board  remained,  I  believe,  for  the  rest  of 
the  day. 

Mr.  Emerson's  honor  for  humanity,  and  respect 
for  humble  people  and  for  labor,  were  strong  char 
acteristics. 

Of  servants  he  was  kindly  and  delicately  consid 
erate,  and  was  always  anxious  while  they  were  pres 
ent  for  fear  that  the  thoughtless  speech  of  any  one 
might  wound  their  feelings  or  be  misinterpreted. 
The  duty  to  the  employed  of  high  speech  and  ex 
ample  must  never  be  forgotten  ;  their  holidays  and 
hours  of  rest,  their  attachments  and  their  religious 
belief,  must  be  respected.  He  was  quick  to  notice 
any  fine  trait  of  loyalty,  courage  or  unselfishness 
in  them,  or  evidence  of  refined  taste.  "  For  the 
love  of  poetry  let  it  be  remembered  that  my  copy 
of  Collins,  after  much  search,  was  found  smuggled 
away  into  the  oven  in  the  kitchen  "  [the  old  brick 
oven,  used  only  for  Thanksgiving  bakings]. 

"  The  king's  servant  is  the  king  himself,"  quoted, 
I  think,  from  the  Persian,  and  the  verse,  — 

"  At  mihi  succurrit  pro  Ganymede  maims  " 
(My  own  right  hand  my  cup-bearer  shall  be),  — 

were  favorite  mottoes,  and  from  boyhood  to  age  he 
was  as  independent  as  might  be  of  service  from 
others.  He  built  his  own  fires,  going  to  the  wood 
pile  in  the  yard  in  all  weather  for  armfuls  as  he 
needed  fuel ;  he  almost  always  walked  to  and  from 


152  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

trains,  carried  his  own  valise,  and  when  going  to 
lecture  in  a  neighboring  town,  drove  himself.  He 
always  kept  one  or  two  ears  of  Indian  corn  in  his 
cabinet  to  catch  the  horse  with,  if  it  got  out  of  the 
pasture. 

Napoleon  was,  I  am  sure,  greatly  raised  in  his 
estimation  by  his  speech  to  Mrs.  Balcornbe,  when 
on  a  rugged  path  at  St.  Helena  they  met  porters 
with  heavy  burdens  whom  she  ordered  to  stand 
aside.  Napoleon  drew  her  back,  saying,  "  Respect 
the  burden,  Madam."  This  anecdote  my  father 
often  recalled  to  us  as  a  lesson.  I  think  that  he 
was  always  regarded  with  affectionate  respect  by 
the  servants.  At  a  hotel  he  made  a  point  of  in 
quiring  for  the  porter  or  "  boots  "  to  remunerate 
him  before  departing. 

Another  anecdote  which  my  father  often  set  be 
fore  his  children  as  a  lesson  in  behavior,  a  story 
which  I  have  never  been  able  to  trace  to  its  source, 
though  it  sounds  like  one  of  Plutarch's,  was  to  the 
effect  that  Caesar  on  a  journey  to  Gaul  lodged  for 
a  night  with  his  officers  at  the  hut  of  a  poor  man, 
who,  in  his  zeal  for  their  entertainment,  prepared  a 
salad  of  asparagus  for  his  guests  with  a  hair-oil, 
which,  tasting,  the  officers  expressed  disgust,  but 
Caesar  frowned  on  them  and  ate  his  portion,  bid 
ding  them  honor  their  host's  pains  on  their  behalf. 

Mr.  Emerson's  own  instinct  in  matters  of  eating 
and  drinking  was  Spartan.  His  tastes  were  sim- 


HIS  TEMPERANCE.  153 

pie,  and  lie  took  whatever  was  set  before  him  with 
healthy  appetite,  but  hardly  knowing  or  asking 
what  it  might  be.  Karely  he  noticed  and  praised 
some  dish  in  an  amusing  manner,  but,  should  any 
mention  of  ingredients  arise,  he  always  interrupted 
with  "  No !  No  !  It  is  made  of  violets  ;  it  has  no 
common  history,"  or  other  expressions  to  that  pur 
pose.  At  the  height  of  the  epoch  when  philoso 
phers  and  reformers  sought  him  constantly  and  sat 
as  guests  at  his  table  shuddering  at  flesh  or  stimu 
lants,  or  products  of  slave-labor,  or  foreign  luxuries, 
or  even  at  roots  because  they  grew  downwards,  he 
was  so  hospitable  to  every  new  thought  or  project 
that  aimed  to  make  life  more  spiritual,  that  he  was 
willing  to  try  what  might  lie  in  it ;  and  when  his 
guests  were  gone,  he  on  one  or  two  occasions  tried 
their  experiment,  even  went  to  his  study  direct 
from  his  bedroom  in  the  morning  for  several  days, 
and  there  had  bread  and  water  brought  to  him,  in 
stead  of  the  comfortable  family  meal  and  the  two 
cups  of  coffee  to  which  he  was  accustomed ;  but  his 
strong  sense  showed  him  at  once  that  those  very 
means  undid  what  they  aimed  at,  by  making  ques 
tions  of  eating  and  drinking  of  altogether  too  much 
importance,  and  also  unfitting  the  body  and  mind 
for  their  best  work,  —  and  temperance,  not  absti 
nence,  became,  as  before,  his  custom  without  effort 
or  further  thought  about  so  slight  a  matter  which 
filled  smaller  men's  horizon.  It  did  not  escape  his 


154  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

notice  that  "  A.  bears  wine  better  than  B.  bears 
water." 

1839. 

Journal.  "  Always  a  reform  is  possible  behind 
the  last  reformer's  word,  and  so  we  must  stop 
somewhere  in  our  over-refining  or  life  would  be 
impossible.  .  .  .  Temperance  that  knows  itself  is 
not  temperance.  That  you  cease  to  drink  wine  or 
coffee  or  tea  is  no  true  temperance  if  you  still  de 
sire  them  and  think  of  them ;  there  is  nothing 
angelic  there.  It  is  thus  far  only  prudence." 

On  the  question  of  signing  pledges  of  total  ab 
stinence  from  ardent  spirits,  he  wrote  in  1835  :  — 

"  No  ;  I  shall  not  deprive  my  example  of  all  its 
value  by  abdicating  my  freedom  on  that  point.  It 
shall  be  always  my  example,  the  spectacle  to  all 
whom  it  may  concern  of  my  spontaneous  action  at 
the  time." 

While  he  valued,  and  recommended  to  others, 
especially  if  dyspeptic,  an  occasional  feast  or  club 
dinner,  —  so  it  did  not  come  too  often,  —  for  its 
good  effects  on  body  and  mind,  and  liked  to  give  a 
dinner  party  for  a  friend  at  his  own  house,  he  de 
sired  that  the  preparations  be  not  too  elaborate  or 
removed  from  the  usual  mode  of  living,  lest  the 
true  order  be  reversed,  and  hospitality  of  table  and 
service  be  more  evident  than  that  of  thought  and 
affection.  He  placed  wine  before  guests  of  dis« 


PERSONAL  HABITS.  155 

creet  age  and  habit  and  took  it  with  them,  seldom 
more  than  one  glass ;  and  he  never  took  it  when 
alone.  He  had  learned  to  smoke  in  college  and 
resumed  the  habit  in  very  moderate  degree  when 
he  was  about  fifty  years  old,  when  in  company,  but 
in  his  later  years  he  occasionally  smoked  a  small 
fraction  of  a  cigar  with  much  comfort,  and  then 
laid  it  by  until  another  time.  In  the  journal  of 
1866  he  wrote  :  "  The  scatter-brain  Tobacco.  Yet 
a  man  of  no  conversation  should  smoke." 

In  dress  he  was  always  neat  and  inconspicuous, 
wearing  black  clothes  and  silk  hat  in  the  city,  and 
dark  gray  with  soft  felt  hat  in  the  country.  He 
once  wrote :  "  How  difficult  it  is  to  me  to  see  cer 
tain  particulars.  I  have  gone  to  many  dinners 
and  parties  with  instructions  from  home  and  with 
my  own  wish  to  notice  the  dress  of  the  men,  and 
can  never  remember  to  look  for  it." 

When  the  gospel  of  cold  bathing  was  preached 
in  New  England  and  the  ascetic  instinct  led  so 
many  good  people  to  practise  it  in  a  dangerous  de 
gree,  enjoying  breaking  ice  in  their  tubs  on  sharp 
mornings,  or,  in  default  of  a  temperature  of  32° 
Fahrenheit,  pumping  long  to  get  the  water  from 
the  very  bottom  of  the  well  to  hurl  down  by  gallons 
on  their  poor  bodies  from  the  heights  of  a  shower- 
bath,  Mr.  Emerson,  fortunately  for  his  health,  en 
tered  into  this  reform  with  circumspection.  His 
remarks  on  the  bath,  when  he  came  down  to  break 
fast,  were  often  amusing  :  — 


156  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  I  begin  to  believe  that  the  composition  of 
water  must  be  one  part  Hydrogen  and  three  parts 
Conceit.  Nothing  so  self-righteous  as  the  morn 
ing  bath  —  the  sleeping  with  windows  open.  The 
Bath  !  the  cutaneous  sublime ;  the  extremes  meet, 
the  bitter-sweet,  the  pail  of  pleasure  and  pain,  — 
Oh,  if  an  enemy  had  done  this  !  " 

Mr.  Emerson  was  tall,  —  six  feet  in  his  shoes,  — 
erect  until  his  latter  days,  neither  very  thin  nor 
stout  in  frame,  with  rather  narrow  and  unusually 
sloping  shoulders,  and  long  neck,  but  very  well 
poised  head,  and  a  dignity  of  carriage.  His  eyes 
were  very  blue,  his  hair  dark  brown,  his  complex 
ion  clear  and  always  with  good  color.  His  fea 
tures  were  pronounced,  but  refined,  and  his  face 
very  much  modelled,  as  a  sculptor  would  say. 

Walking  was  his  exercise  and  he  was  an  admi 
rable  walker,  light,  erect  and  strong  of  limb.  He 
almost  always  refused  offers  to  ride  in  a  carriage, 
and  seldom  on  journeys  availed  himself  of  omni 
buses  or  cabs.  He  would  walk  across  the  city  to 
his  train,  carrying  usually  his  rather  heavy  leathern 
travelling  bag  in  his  hand  at  such  a  speed  that  a 
companion  must  run  to  keep  up  with  him,  and  this 
without  apparent  effort  or  any  noticeable  effect  of 
overheat  or  shortness  of  breath.  "  When  you  have 
worn  out  your  shoes,"  he  said,  "  the  strength  of  the 
sole-leather  has  gone  into  the  fibre  of  your  body." 

Once  or  twice  I  remember  his  riding  on  horse- 


THE  ADIRONDACS.  157 

back,  but  in  this  lie  had  no  practice.  On  his  jour 
ney  to  California,  however,  as  Mr.  Forbes's  guest, 
he  rode  for  a  day  or  two  in  the  Yo-Semite  Valley 
trip  with  pleasure  and  without  mishap.  His  old 
pair  of  skates  always  hung  in  his  study-closet,  and 
he  went  to  the  solitary  coves  of  Walden  with  his 
children  when  he  was  fifty  years  old  and  skated 
with  them,  moving  steadily  forward,  as  I  remem 
ber,  secure  and  erect.  In  summer,  but  only  on  the 
very  hot  days,  he  liked  to  go  into  Walden,  and 
swam  strongly  and  well. 

When  in  1857  he  went  into  camp  with  his 
friends  of  the  Adirondac  Club  (Agassiz,  S.  G. 
Ward,  W.  J.  Stillman,  Dr.  Jeffries  Wyman,  John 
Holmes,  Judge  E.  R.  Hoar,  J.  K.  Lowell,  Dr.  Estes 
Howe,  Horatio  Woodman),  he  bought  a  rifle  and 
learned  to  shoot  with  it ;  this  I  know,  for  he  gave 
it  to  me  on  his  return,  and  instructed  me  (by  no 
means  with  the  readiness  of  a  sportsman)  in  load 
ing  and  firing  it,  on  Mr.  Heywood's  hill.  I  believe, 
however,  he  never  shot  at  any  living  thing  with  it. 
He  was  paddled  out  by  a  guide  with  a  torch  at 
night,  told  there  was  a  deer  on  the  shore  and  made 
out  to  see  a  "  square  mist,"  but  did  not  shoot. 

He  took  interest  in  wild  flowers,  birds  and  ani 
mals  in  their  native  haunts,  — 

"Loved  the  wild  rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk,"  — 
and  for  garden  flowers  never  cared  so  much. 


158  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  Everybody  feels  that  they  appeal  to  finer  senses 
than  his  own  and  looks  wishfully  around  in  hope 
that  possibly  this  friend  or  that  may  be  nobler  fur 
nished  than  he  to  see  and  read  them.  .  .  .  Espe 
cially  they  are  sent  to  ceremonies  and  assemblies, 
sacred  or  festal  or  funereal,  because  on  occasions 
of  passion  or  sentiment  there  may  be  higher  appre 
ciation  of  these  delicate  wonders." 

"  To  the  fir  [balsam]  tree  by  my  study  window 
come  the  ground-sparrow,  oriole,  cedar-bird,  com 
mon  cross -bill,  yellow -bird,  goldfinch,  cat -bird, 
particolored  warbler  and  robin." 

He  respected  and  praised  the  useful  domestic 
animals,  though  utterly  unskilful  with  them,  a  lack 
which  he  regretted,  and  enjoyed  seeing  the  tact  and 
courage  of  others  in  managing  them. 

1862. 

Journal.  "I  like  people  who  can  do  things. 
When  Edward  and  I  struggled  in  vain  to  drag 
our  big  calf  into  the  barn,  the  Irish  girl  put  her 
finger  in  the  calf's  mouth  and  led  her  in  directly." 

He  liked  to  talk  with  drivers  and  stable-men, 
and  witnessed  with  keen  pleasure  Rarey's  perform 
ance  and  wrote  it  into  one  of  his  lectures,  saying 
that  all  horses  hereafter  would  neigh  on  his  birth 
day.  In  his  later  years  he  went  with  zeal  to  Mag- 
ner's  secret  horse-training  lecture  in  the  stable  of 
the  Middlesex  Hotel,  carrying  with  him  two  some- 


BIBLE  QUOTATIONS.  159 

what  astonished  English  visitors.  Pet  animals  he 
cared  nothing  for  and  shrank  from  touching  them, 
though  he  admired  the  beauty  and  grace  of  cats. 
Lately  I  received  an  earnest  appeal  from  a  lady, 
writing  for  "  St.  Nicholas  "  on  the  Canine  Friends 
of  our  Authors  and  Statesmen,  for  anecdotes  show 
ing  my  father's  liking  for  dogs,  and  particulars  of 
the  names,  color  and  breed  of  his  canine  friends, 
and  especially  asking  for  any  anecdote  of  his  affec 
tionate  relations  with  dogs  that  could  be  embodied 
in  one  of  the  excellent  sketches  for  which  that  pe 
riodical  is  famous.  I  was  only  able  to  tell  her  of 
the  delight  and  sympathy  with  which  he  used  to 
read  to  his  family,  how  when  the  Kev.  Sydney 
Smith  was  asked  by  a  lady  for  a  motto  to  be  en 
graved  on  the  collar  of  her  little  dog  Spot,  the 
divine  suggested  the  line  from  Macbeth,  "  Out ! 
damned  Spot !  " 

So  little  of  the  clergyman  or  pastor  remained 
with  my  father  that  it  was  a  surprise  when  any 
evidence  of  that  part  of  his  life  and  special  train 
ing  appeared.  But  now  and  then  he  would  quote 
Scripture  in  an  unexpected  and  amusing  manner, 
never  irreverently,  and  the  quotations  were  always 
unusual  and  often  a  little  perverted  from  their  orig 
inals.  When  urged  to  any  doing  or  spending  that 
he  did  not  feel  like  undertaking  he  would  say, 
"  The  strength  of  the  Egyptians  is  to  sit  still."  If 
the  children  dawdled  in  getting  off  to  school,  he 


160  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

would  look  at  his  watch  and  cry,  "  Flee  as  the  roe 
from  the  hand  of  the  hunter  !  "  or  did  I  coine  home 
laden  with  packages  from  the  store,  he  would  say, 
"  Issachar  is  a  strong  ass ;  he  croucheth  between 
two  burdens."  He  spoke  of  the  villagers  who  had 
become  possessed  of  the  "  spiritualist "  revelation 
as  "  wizards  that  peep  and  mutter."  When  a 
guest  had  looked  askance  at  such  grapes  as  the 
frost  in  his  low  garden  had  allowed  to  ripen  imper 
fectly,  he  would  say,  "  Surely  our  labor  is  in  vain 
»in  the  Lord,"  and  when  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and 
almost  every  member  of  the  family,  remembering 
something  he  or  she  had  meant  to  do  before  the 
meal,  would  disappear,  he  said,  "  Our  bell  should 
have  engraved  on  it  'I  laughed  on  them  and 
they  believed  me  not/  "  and  this  at  last  was  done. 
Once  in  his  early  housekeeping,  at  a  time  when 
Mr.  Emerson  was  very  busy,  a  distant  relative 
came  a-cousining,  and  there  was  reason  to  believe 
that  he  planned  to  take  the  afternoon  stage,  but 
he  was  not  very  zealous  about  departing,  and  the 
stage  was  not  seen  until  it  had  just  passed  the 
house,  —  the  last  stage  and  it  was  Saturday.  Mr. 
Emerson  shouted  and  ran  to  overtake  it  and  hap 
pily  succeeded.  On  his  return,  after  seeing  the 
guest  safely  ensconced,  his  wife  smiled  and  said 
she  feared  that  his  zeal  on  behalf  of  his  relative 
was  a  little  noticeable.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  my  run 
ning  was  like  the  running  of  Ahimaez  the  son  of 
Zadoc." 


SENSE  OF  HUMOR.  161 

His  position  as  a  scholar  and  philosopher  was 
the  stronger  that  he  had  the  fortunate  gift,  not 
altogether  common  in  that  class,  of  a  sense  of  hu 
mor.  Few  Philistines  were  more  aware  of  the 
amusing  side  that  his  class  presented  to  world's 
people.  He  felt  that  they  were  mostly  over 
weighted  in  one  direction  ;  in  fact  bewails  the  lack 
of  "  whole  men  "  everywhere,  and  speaks  of  those 
who  are  "  an  appendage  to  a  great  fortune,  or  to 
a  legislative  majority,  or  to  the  Massachusetts  Re 
vised  Statutes,  or  to  some  barking  and  bellowing 
Institution,  Association  or  Church."  But  of  the 
weaknesses  too  often  found  in  the  bookish  man  he 
was  quite  aware.  Here,  under  the  heading  Cul 
ture,  is  a  list  of  tests :  "  Set  a  dog  on  him :  Set  a 
highwayman  on  him :  Set  a  woman  on  him :  Try 
him  with  money." 

One  day  when  we  were  talking  on  the  door  step 
my  father  said,  looking  across  the  street :  "  What, 

can  that  really  be ?  "  (naming  a  mystic  then 

sojourning  in  town.)  "  No,"  said  I,  "  it  is  our 

neighbor  Mr.  B ."  "  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "I 

took  him  for  ,  and  thought  he  looked  more 

like  a  gentleman  and  less  like  a  philosopher  than 
usual." 

When  Miss  Fuller's  book  was  published  he  wrote 
to  a  friend :  "  Margaret's  book  has  had  the  most 
unlooked-for  and  welcome  success.  It  is  a  small 
thing  that  you  learned  and  virtuous  people  like  it, 


162  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

—  I  tell  you  the  'Post'  and  the  *  Advertiser' 
praise  it,  and  I  expect  a  favorable  leader  from  the 
'Police  Gazette.'" 

Some  of  the  extracts  given  concerning  the  re 
formers  show  that  he  saw  well  enough  these  ab 
surdities,  but  he  knew  that,  as  every  one  else  saw 
these,  he  could  well  afford  to  look  for  their  virtues. 
Here  are  one  or  two  observations  on  other  classes 
however  which  may  be  amusing  enough  to  intro 
duce,  though  printed :  "  Here  comes  Elise,  who 
caught  cold  in  coming  into  the  world  and  has  al 
ways  increased  it  since."  Those  persons  "  who  can 
never  understand  a  trope  or  second  sense  in  your 
words,  or  any  humor,  but  remain  literalists  after 
hearing  the  music  and  poetry  and  rhetoric  and  wit 
of  seventy  or  eighty  years.  .  .  .  They  are  past  the 
help  of  surgeon  or  clergy.  But  even  these  can  un 
derstand  pitchforks  or  the  cry  of  Fire !  and  I  have 
noticed  in  some  of  this  class  a  marked  dislike  of 
earthquakes."  But  he  enjoyed  wit  at  his  own  ex 
pense,  and  was  much  amused  to  hear  that  "  the 
audience  that  assembled  to  hear  my  lectures  [the 
course  of  1856-7]  in  these  last  weeks  was  called 
the  effete  of  Boston."  He  never  failed  to  be  com 
pletely  overcome  with  laughter  if  any  one  recited 
the  imitation  of  Brahma,  beginning,  — 

"  If  the  gray  tom-cat  thinks  he  sings, 

Or  if  the  song  think  it  be  sung, 
He  little  knows  who  boot- jacks  flings 
How  many  bricks  at  him  I  've  flung." 


EYE  AND  EAR.  163 

Loud  laughter,  which  he  considered  a  sign  of 
the  worst  breeding,  he  was  never  guilty  of,  and 
when  he  laughed  he  did  so  under  protest,  so  to 
speak,  and  the  effort  while  doing  so  to  control  the 
muscles  of  his  face,  over  which  he  had  imperfect 
command,  made  a  strange  struggle  visible  there. 
But  the  fun  must  be  good  or  the  satire  keen  :  — 

"  Beware  of  cheap  wit.  How  the  whole  vulgar 
human  race  every  day  from  century  to  century 
plays  at  the  stale  game  of  each  man  calling  the 
other  a  donkey." 

Mr.  Emerson  had  a  good  eye  for  form,  and,  that 
he  would  have  drawn  well  with  practice,  the  heads 
which  he  drew  sometimes  for  his  children's  amuse 
ment  showed.  He  had  less  eye  for  color,  conse 
quently  delighted  more  in  the  work  of  Michael 
Angelo,  Guercino,  Salvator  Rosa,  and  Raphael's 
cartoons,  and  especially  in  Greek  sculpture,  than 
in  other  works  of  art.  He  cared  little  for  land 
scape  painting.  The  symbolic,  not  the  literal, 
charmed  him.  He  seemed  to  have  little  value  for 
the  picturesque,  rather  objected  to  having  it  pointed 
out,  and  his  own  strange  lines,  — 

"  Loved  Nature  like  a  horned  cow, 
Bird  or  deer  or  caribou,"  — 

nearly  conveyed  his  own  almost  savage  love,  for  it 
sometimes  seemed  as  if  the  densest  sprout-land, 
almost  suffocating  the  walker  with  pollen  or  the 


164  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

breath  of  sweet-fern  on  a  hot  summer  afternoon, 
and  thick  with  horseflies,  was  as  agreeable  to  him 
as  the  glades  and  vistas  that  would  charm  an  artist. 
And  yet  his  eye  sought  and  found  beauty  every 
where.  Especially  did  it  please  him  to  find  the 
"  grace  and  glimmer  of  romance  "  which  mist  or 
moonlight  or  veiling  water  could  give  to  humblest 
objects ;  — 

"  Illusions  like  the  tints  of  pearl 
Or  changing  colors  of  the  sky  ; "  — 

or  to  see  planetary  motion  in  a  schoolboy's  play. 

"  I  saw  a  boy  on  the  Concord  Common  pick  up 
an  old  bruised  tin  milk-pan  that  was  rusting  by  the 
roadside  and  poising  it  on  the  top  of  a  stick,  set  it 
a-turning  and  made  it  describe  the  most  elegant 
imaginable  curves."  For  he  had  what  he  called 
"  musical  eyes." 

Journal.  "  I  think  sometimes  that  my  lack  of 
musical  ear  is  made  good  to  me  through  my  eyes : 
that  which  others  hear,  I  see.  All  the  soothing, 
plaintive,  brisk  or  romantic  moods  which  corre 
sponding  melodies  waken  in  them,  I  find  in  the 
carpet  of  the  wood,  in  the  margin  of  the  pond,  in 
the  shade  of  the  hemlock  grove,  or  in  the  infinite 
variety  and  rapid  dance  of  the  tree-tops  as  I  hurry 
along." 

He  had  not,  as  he  says,  the  musical  ear,  could 
not  surely  recognize  the  commonest  airs,  but  was 
interested  to  hear  good  music  occasionally. 


VOICE.  165 

"  I  think  sometimes,  could  I  only  have  music  on 
my  own  terms,  could  I  live  in  a  city  and  know 
where  I  could  go  whenever  I  wished  the  ablution 
and  inundation  of  musical  waves,  that  were  a  bath 
and  a  medicine." 

He  liked  to  hear  singing,  preferring  a  woman's 
voice,  but  the  sentiment  of  the  song  and  the  spirit 
with  which  it  was  rendered  and  the  personal  qual 
ity  of  the  voice  were  more  to  him  than  the  har 
mony. 

His  own  voice  in  reading  or  speaking  was  agree 
able,  flexible  and  varied,  with  power  unexpected 
from  a  man  of  his  slender  chest.  His  friend  Mr. 
Alcott  said  of  him  "  that  some  of  his  organs  were 
free,  some  fated :  the  voice  was  entirely  liberated, 
and  his  poems  and  essays  were  not  rightly  pub 
lished  until  he  read  them." 

Of  his  hardihood  of  mind  and  body  he  had  good 
need  on  his  long  lecturing  trips,  as  will  presently 
be  seen.  The  exposures  seemed  to  do  him  no 
harm,  and  he  usually  returned  in  better  health 
than  when  he  set  out,  and  yet  he  always  suffered 
from  cold,  and  learned  on  this  account  to  make 
a  rule  to  go  to  hotels  rather  than  private  houses, 
and  I  have  often  heard  his  first  word  on  arriving 
to  hotel  clerk  or  waiter,  —  "Now  make  me  red- 
hot."  He  had  had  his  full  share  of  sickness  in 
youth,  but  from  the  age  of  thirty  until  his  last 


166  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

illness  lie  only  once  or  twice  fell  short  of  the  best 
health,  and  though  taken  good  care  of  at  home, 
his  own  maxims  and  regimen,  almost  the  same  as 
Napoleon's,  served  him  when  abroad,  namely,  when 
health  was  threatened,  to  reverse  the  methods  that 
had  brought  the  attack.  Warmth,  water,  wild  air, 
and  walking  were  his  medicines. 

February  7,  1839. 

Journal.  "  The  drunkard  retires  on  a  keg  and 
locks  himself  up  for  a  three  days'  debauch.  When 
I  am  sick  I  please  myself  not  less  in  retiring  on  a 
salamander  stove,  heaping  the  chamber  with  fuel 
and  inundating  lungs,  liver,  head  and  feet  with 
floods  of  caloric,  heats  on  heats.  It  is  dainty  to 
be  sick,  if  you  have  leisure  and  convenience  for  it. 
One  sees  the  colors  of  the  carpet  and  the  paper 
hangings.  All  the  housemates  have  a  softer,  fainter 
look  to  the  debilitated  retina." 

He  had  love  and  tenderness  for  very  small  chil 
dren,  and  his  skill  in  taking  and  handling  a  baby 
was  in  remarkable  contrast  to  his  awkwardness 
with  animals  or  tools.  The  monthly  nurse,  who 
drew  back  instinctively  when  he  offered  to  take  a 
new-born  baby  from  her  arms,  saw  in  another 
moment  that  she  had  no  cause  to  shudder,  for  noth 
ing  could  be  more  delicate  and  skilful  and  confi 
dent  than  his  manner  of  holding  the  small  scrap 
of  humanity  as  delighted  and  smiling  he  bore  it  up 


TREATMENT  OF  CHILDREN.  167 

and  down  the  room,  making  a  charming  and  tender 
address  to  it.  His  little  boy,  the  first-born  of  his 
family  (two  sons  and  two  daughters),  died  at  the 
age  of  five.  His  good  friend  Judge  Hoar  writes  : 
"  I  think  I  was  never  more  impressed  with  a  hu 
man  expression  of  agony  than  when  Mr.  Emerson 
led  me  into  the  room  where  little  Waldo  lay  dead 
and  said  only,  in  reply  to  whatever  I  could  say  of 
sorrow  or  sympathy,  "  Oh,  that  boy  !  that  boy !  " 

A  very  little  child  always  had  the  entrance  and 
the  run  of  his  study,  where  it  was  first  carried 
around  the  room  and  shown  the  Flaxman  statuette 
of  Psyche  with  the  butterfly  wings,  the  little  bronze 
Goethe,  the  copy  of  Michael  Angelo's  Fates  which, 
because  of  the  shears  and  thread,  were  always  in 
teresting.  The  pictures  in  the  old  "  Penny  Maga 
zine  "  were  the  next  treat,  and  then,  if  the  child 
wanted  to  stay,  pencil  and  letter-back  were  fur 
nished  him  to  draw  with.  After  a  time,  if  the  vis 
itor  became  too  exacting,  he  was  kindly  dismissed, 
the  fall  being  softened  by  some  new  scheme  sug 
gested.  Entire  sweetness  and  tact  and  firmness 
made  resistance  and  expostulation  out  of  the  ques 
tion. 

If  a  child  cried  at  table  Mr.  Emerson  sent  it 
out  to  see  whether  the  gate  had  been  left  open  or 
whether  the  clouds  were  coming  up,  so  sure  was 
he  that  the  great  calm  face  of  Nature  would  soothe 
the  little  grief,  or  that  her  brilliant  activity  of 


168  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

wind  and  sun  would  divert  the  childish  mind.  The 
small  ambassador,  a  little  perplexed  as  to  why 
he  was  sent  then,  returned,  solemnly  reported  and 
climbed  back  into  his  high  chair. 

My  father  seldom  romped  with  the  children,  and 
any  silliness  or  giggling  brought  a  stern  look ;  the 
retailing  any  gossip  or  ill-natured  personal  allu 
sions  heard  outside  was  instantly  nipped  in  the 
bud.  No  flippant  mention  of  love,  in  even  the 
childish  romances  of  school,  could  be  made,  and 
the  subject  of  death  was  also  sacred  from  any  light 
speech  or  jest. 

The  watchword  which  his  Aunt  Mary  had  given 
him  and  his  brothers,  "  Always  do  what  you  are 
afraid  to  do,"  was  prescribed  to  us  and  enforced  as 
far  as  possible. 

The  annoyance  which  his  own  shyness  and  self- 
consciousness  had  cost  him  made  him  desire  that 
young  people  should  have  whatever  address  and 
aplomb  could  be  got  by  training,  so  he  urged  that 
they  should  dance  and  ride  and  engage  in  all  out- 
of-door  sports. 

On  in  -  door  games  he  looked  with  a  more  jeal 
ous  eye,  remembering  how  he  and  his  friends  had 
amused  themselves  with  good  reading ;  only  toler 
ated  his  children's  acting  in  juvenile  plays,  and 
always  disliked  card-playing.  On  one  occasion  two 
of  us  had  just  learned  some  childish  game  of  cards, 
and  being  dressed  some  time  before  breakfast,  sat 


CARD-PLAYING.  169 

down  to  play.  When  lie  entered  he  exclaimed, 
"  No !  No !  No  !  Put  them  away.  Never  affront 
the  sacred  morning  with  the  sight  of  cards.  When 
the  day's  work  is  done,  or  you  are  sick,  then  per 
haps  they  will  do,  but  never  in  the  daylight !  No  !  " 
Probably  the  traditions  of  his  youth  and  his  fam 
ily's  calling  had  something  to  do  with  the  aversion 
always  felt  for  cards,  but  his  value  of  Nature  and 
books  as  teachers  made  him  grudge  valuable  time 
so  spent. 

He  always  expected  that  Sunday  should  be  ob 
served  in  the  household,  not  with  the  old  severity, 
but  with  due  regard  for  a  custom  which  he  valued 
for  itself  as  well  as  for  association,  and  also  for  the 
feelings  of  others.  We  could  read  and  walk  and 
bathe  in  Walden,  then  secluded,  but  were  not  ex 
pected  to  have  toys  or  to  play  games  or  romp  or  to 
go  to  drive  or  row.  He  was  glad  to  have  us  go  to 
church.  His  own  attitude  in  the  matter  was,  that 
it  was  only  a  question  for  each  person  where  the 
best  church  was,  —  in  the  solitary  wood,  the  cham 
ber,  the  talk  with  the  serious  friend,  or  in  hearing 
the  preacher.  This  was  shown  when  a  young 
woman  working  in  his  household,  in  answer  to  his 
inquiry  whether  she  had  been  to  the  church,  said 
brusquely,  "No,  she  did  n't  trouble  the  church 
much."  He  said  quietly,  "  Then  you  have  some 
where  a  little  chapel  of  your  own,"  a  courteous  as 
sumption  which  perhaps  set  her  thinking.  He  never 


170  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

liked  to  attack  the  beliefs  of  others,  but  always 
held  that  lower  beliefs  needed  no  attacks,  but  were 
sure  to  give  way  by  displacement  when  higher  ones 
were  given.  One  evening  after  a  conversation 
where  zealous  radicals  had  explained  that  the 
death  of  Jesus  had  been  simulated,  no.t  real,  and 
planned  beforehand  by  him  and  the  disciples  for 
its  effect  on  the  people,  while  he  thereafter  kept  in 
hiding,  my  mother  tells  that  she  asked  my  father, 
"  Should  you  like  to  have  the  children  hear  that  ?  " 
He  said,  "  No ;  it 's  odious  to  have  lilies  pulled  up 
and  skunk-cabbages  planted  in  their  places." 

As  our  mother  required  us  to  learn  a  hymn  on 
Sundays  he  would  sometimes  suggest  one  or  two 
which  he  valued  out  of  the  rather  unpromising 
church  collection  which  we  had,1  or  put  in  our 
hands  Herrick's  White  Island  or  Litany  to  the 
Holy  Spirit,  Herbert's  Elixir  or  Pulley,  or  part  of 
Milton's  Hymn  of  the  Nativity. 

He  liked  to  read  and  recite  to  us  poems  or  prose 
passages  a  little  above  our  heads,  and  on  Sunday 
mornings  often  brought  into  the  dining-room  some 
thing  rather  old  for  us,  and  read  aloud  from  Sou- 
they's  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,  or  Froissart's  Chroni 
cles,  or  Burke's  speeches,  or  amusing  passages  from 
Sydney  Smith  or  Charles  Lamb  or  Lowell.  One 

1  Wesley's  hymn  was  a  favorite,  beginning,  — 

"  Thou  hidden  love  of  God  !  whose  height, 
Whose  depth  uufathomed,  no  man  knows." 


SUNDAY.  171 

rainy  Sunday  when  we  could  not  go  to  walk  we  got 
permission  from  our  mother  to  play  Battledore  and 
Shuttlecock  for  a  little  while,  but  no  sooner  did 
the  sound  of  the  shuttlecock  on  the  parchment  bat- 
head  ring  through  the  house  than  we  heard  the 
study  door,  open  and  our  father's  stride  in  the  en 
try.  He  came  in  and  said :  "  That  sound  was  never 
heard  in  New  England  before  on  Sunday  and  must 
not  be  in  my  house.  Put  them  away." 

November,  1839. 

Journal.  "  The  Sabbath  is  my  best  debt  to  the 
Past  and  binds  me  to  some  gratitude  still.  It 
brings  me  that  frankincense  out  of  a  sacred  anti 
quity." 

On  Sunday  afternoons  at  four  o'clock,  when  the 
children  came  from  their  Bible -reading  in  their 
mother's  room  he  took  them  all  to  walk,  more  often 
towards  Walden,  or  beyond  to  the  Ledge  ("  My 
Garden"),  the  Cliffs,  the  old  Baker  Farm  on  Fair- 
haven,  or  Northward  to  Caesar's  Woods,  Peter's 
Field,  or  to  Copan  (Oak  Island)  on  the  Great 
Meadows,  or  the  old  clearings,  cellar -holes  and 
wild-apple  orchards  of  the  Estabrook  country,  and 
sometimes  across  the  South  Branch  of  the  river  to 
the  tract  named  Conantum  by  Mr.  Channing  from 
the  Conants,  its  proprietors. 

He  showed  us  his  favorite  plants,  usually  rather 
humble  flowers  such  as  the  Lespideza,  — 


172  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  This  flower  of  silken  leaf 
That  once  our  childhood  knew,"  *  — 

or  the  little  blue  Self-heal2  whose  name  recom 
mended  it.  He  led  us  to  the  vista  in  his  woods 
beyond  Walden  that  he  found  and  improved  with 
his  hatchet ; 

"  He  smote  the  lake  to  please  his  eye 
With  the  beryl  beam  of  the  broken  wave  ; 
He  flung  in  pebbles,  well  to  hear 
The  moment's  music  which  they  gave  ; " 

and  on  the  shores  of  frozen  Walden  on  a  dull 
winter's  day  halloed  for  Echo  in  which  he  took 
great  delight,  like  Wordsworth's  boy  of  Winder- 
mere.  Echo,  the  booming  of  the  ice  on  the  pond 
or  river,  the  wind  in  the  pines  and  the  ^Eolian 
harp  iu  his  west  window  were  the  sounds  he  best 
loved.  At  one  time  he  had  heard  in  the  White 
Mountains  a  horn  blown  with  so  wonderful  reply 
of  Echo  that  he  often  recalled  it  with  joy  and  went 
thither  in  his  later  years,  but  the  Echo  was  gone, 
the  building  of  some  barn  had  so  affected  the  con 
ditions. 

Often  as  he  walked  he  would  recite  fragments 
of  ballads,  old  or  modern ;  Svend  Vonved,  Battle 
of  Harlaw,  Scott's  Dinas  Emlinn,  Alice  Brand, 

1  THE  DIBGE. 

2  "  AU  over  the  wide  fields  of  earth  grows  the  prunella  or  Self- 
heal.     After  every  foolish  day  we  sleep  off  the  fumes  and  furies 
of  its  hours,"  etc.  —  NATUBE,  in  Essays,  2d  Series. 


RECITATION  OF  POETRY.  173 

and  Childe  Dyring,  Wordsworth's  Boy  of  Egre- 
mond,  Byron's  lines  about  Murat's  Charge,  and  oc 
casionally  would  try  upon  us  lines  of  poems  that 
he  was  composing,  "The  Boston  Hymn,"  or  the 
Romany  Girl,  "  crooning  "  them  to  bring  out  their 
best  melody. 

He  took  the  greatest  interest  in  our  recitation  of 
poetry,  and  pleased  himself  that  no  one  of  us  could 
sing,  for  he  said  he  thought  that  he  had  observed 
that  the  two  gifts  of  singing  and  oratory  did  not 
go  together.  Good  declamation  he  highly  prized, 
and  used  to  imitate  for  us  the  recitation  of  certain 
demigods  of  the  college  in  those  days  when  all  the 
undergraduates  went  with  interest  to  hear  the  Se 
niors  declaim. 

On  our  return  from  school  after  "Speaking 
Afternoon  "  he  always  asked,  "  Did  you  do  well  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know."  "  Did  the  boys  study  or  play,  or 
did  they  sit  still  and  look  at  you  ?  "  "  Several  of 
them  did  n't  attend."  "  But  you  must  oblige  them 
to.  If  the  orator  does  n't  command  his  audience 
they  will  command  him." 

He  cared  much  that  we  should  do  well  in  Latin 
and  in  Greek,  liked  to  read  our  Virgil  with  us,  and 
even  Viri  Romce^  and  on  days  when  I  had  stayed  at 
home  from  school  and  congratulated  myself  that 
tasks  were  dodged,  sent  me  to  the  study  for  "  The 
thick  little  book  on  the  fourth  shelf,"  and  spent  an 
hour  with  me  over  Erasmi  Oolloquia.  But  with 


174  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

our  dislike  of  mathematics  lie  sympathized,  said  we 
came  by  it  honestly,  and  would  have  let  us  drop 
the  subject  all  too  soon,  but  for  the  requirements 
of  school  and  college  curriculum.  He  was  uneasy 
at  seeing  the  multitude  of  books  for  young  people 
that  had  begun  to  appear  which  prevented  our 
reading  the  standard  authors  as  children,  as  he  and 
his  brothers  had  done.  He  required  his  son  to 
read  two  pages  of  Plutarch's  Lives  every  schoolday 
and  ten  pages  on  Saturdays  and  in  vacation. 

The  modern  languages  he  was  careless  about, 
for  he  said  one  could  easily  pick  up  French  and 
German  for  himself. 

He  had  the  grace  to  leave  to  his  children,  after 
they  began  to  grow  up,  the  responsibility  of  decid 
ing  in  more  important  questions  concerning  them 
selves,  for  which  they  cannot  be  too  grateful  to 
him  ;  he  did  not  command  or  forbid,  but  laid  the 
principles  and  the  facts  before  us  and  left  the  case 
in  our  hands. 

Nothing  could  be  better  than  his  manner  to  chil 
dren  and  young  people,  affectionate  and  with  a 
marked  respect  for  their  personality,  as  if  perhaps 
their  inspiration  or  ideal  might  be  better  than  his 
own,  yet  dignified  and  elevating  by  his  expectations. 
He  was  at  ease  with  them  and  questioned  them 
kindly,  but  as  if  expecting  from  them  something 
better  than  had  yet  appeared,  so  that  he  always 
inspired  affection  and  awe,  but  never  fear.  The 


INFLUENCE  ON  THE   YOUNG,  175 

beauty,  the  sincerity,  the  hopefulness  of  young 
people  charmed  him.  Hearing  from  Mrs.  Lowell 
the  generous  discontent  of  her  son  Charles  with 
the  conditions  of  society,  he  wrote  to  her,  "  I  hope 
he  will  never  get  over  it."  The  son  did  not,  and 
this  ferment  made  his  short  and  brilliant  life, 
ended  on  the  battle-field  of  Cedar  Creek,  one  con 
tinuous  and  intelligent  endeavor  to  help  on  the 
world. 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend  in  1837,  Mr.  Emerson 
had  said  what  were  the  duties  of  the  thinker  and 
scholar :  "  Sit  apart,  write ;  let  them  hear  or  let 
them  forbear ;  the  written  word  abides,  until  slowly 
and  unexpectedly  and  in  widely  sundered  places  it 
has  created  its  own  church."  The  young  were  his 
audience  and  the  whole  history  of  his  middle  and 
later  life  was  the  justification  of  this  course.  Not 
only  did  the  best  young  spirits  of  Cambridge  find 
that  the  Turnpike  road  led  to  a  door,  only  thirteen 
miles  away,  always  open  to  any  earnest  questioner, 
but  from  remote  inland  colleges,  from  workshops 
in  cities  of  the  distant  States,  from  the  Old  World, 
and  last  even  from  India  and  the  islands  of  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  came  letters  of  anxious  and  trusting 
young  people  seeking  help  for  their  spiritual  con 
dition.  And  these  letters  were  answered  and  often, 
years  afterward,  the  writer  himself  came.  Mr. 
Emerson's  excuse  to  the  Abolition  Reformers  for 
not  giving  himself  wholly  up  to  their  cause,  —  that 


176  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

he  had  his  own  imprisoned  spirits  to  free,  —  was 
justified,  for  the  burden  of  these  letters  is  in  al 
most  every  case,  "  Your  book  found  us  in  darkness 
and  bonds ;  it  broke  the  chain ;  we  are  thankful 
and  must  say  it.  You  will  still  help  us." 

The  story  of  his  awakening  and  liberating  influ 
ence  has  been  publicly  told  by  several  of  the  young 
men  who  found  in  him  a  helper.  Matthew  Arnold 
said:  — 

"  There  came  to  us  in  that  old  Oxford  time  a 
voice  also  from  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  a  clear 
and  pure  voice,  which  for  my  ear  .  .  .  brought  a 
strain  as  new  and  moving  and  unforgetable  as  the 
strain  of  Newman  or  Carlyle  or  Goethe." 

But  when  the  young  visitor  asked  of  God  or  of 
Heaven  as  he  would  about  the  President  or  the 
market,  and  clumsily  handled  the  great  mysteries 
of  Life  and  Death  as  if  they  were  by-laws  of  a 
club,  he  received  never  a  direct  answer,1  but  one 

1  Compare  the  following  passages  from  journals  between  1840 
and  1850:  — 

"  Everything  in  the  Universe  goes  by  indirection.  There  are  no 
straight  lines." 

"  If  we  could  speak  the  direct  solving  words  it  would  solve  us 
too." 

"  The  gods  like  indirect  names  and  dislike  to  be  named  di 
rectly." 

"  In  good  society,  say  among  the  angels  in  heaven,  is  not  every, 
thing  spoken  by  indirection  and  nothing  quite  straight  as  it  be< 
fell?" 


IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  177 

that  threw  a  side  light  on  the  question,  showed  its 
awful  and  vast  proportions,  set  him  thinking  about 
it  for  himself  with  a  new  feeling  of  what  he  was 
dealing  with. 

Mr.  Emerson  was,  as  Arnold  said,  the  friend  of 
those  who  would  live  in  the  Spirit,  but  he  only 
wished  to  free  them,  not  to  throw  his  newer  chains 
on  them. 

In  his  journal  (1856)  he  writes  cheerfully  :  "  I 
have  been  writing  and  speaking  what  were  once 
called  novelties  for  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  and 
have  not  now  one  disciple."  The  would-be  disciples 
must  go,  he  held,  to  the  fountain  which  he  had 
pointed  out,  for  themselves,  and  might  well  get  a 
deeper  insight  than  he.  "  I  make  no  allowance  for 
youth  in  talking  with  my  friends.  If  a  youth  or 
maiden  converses  with  me  I  forget  they  are  not  a& 
old  as  I  am." 

Mr.  Bradford  relates  that  once  while  he  and  my 
father  were  travelling  in  the  White  Mountains 
they  met  a  city  friend  at  a  hotel.  This  gentleman 
and  Mr.  Emerson  were  talking  in  some  public  part 
of  the  hotel  on  books  and  men,  when  a  green  youth, 
probably  a  student,  who  sat  by,  became  interested 
and  tried  to  join  in  the  conversation,  putting  ques 
tions  to  them.  At  length  he  broke  in  with,  "  Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  Romulus  ?  "  This  not  seem 
ing  a  promising  theme,  this  gentleman  said  in 
French  to  Mr.  Emerson,  "  Let  us  talk  in  French," 


178  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

but  the  latter  entirely  refused  to  notice  so  rude  a 
proposal. 

On  lecturing,  Mr.  Emerson  mainly  depended  for 
his  livelihood,  for  his  books  brought  him  little  until 
the  last  years  of  his  life.  But  for  the  building  of 
the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  Concord  would  soon  have 
become  an  impossible  place  of  residence  for  one 
whose  field  for  work  had  become  greatly  enlarged 
by  the  rapid  spinning  of  the  net-work  of  iron  rails 
over  the  continent.  From  courses  in  the  near  New 
England  cities  and  such  villages  as  could  be 
reached  in  a  few  hours  in  a  chaise,  year  by  year 
the  programme  became  more  extensive  and  com 
plicated,  and  from  1850  for  twenty  years  each  win 
ter  meant  for  him  at  least  two  months  of  arduous 
travel  from  Maine  to  the  new  States  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  speaking  almost  every  night,  except 
Sundays,  during  that  time.  Travelling  now  in  the 
close  and  dirty  cars  of  those  days,  now  making  a 
connection  by  a  forty  mile  drive  in  an  open  sleigh 
on  the  bleak  prairie,  or,  in  a  thaw,  on  wheels  sunk 
to  the  hubs  in  glutinous  mud,  now  in  a  crowded 
canal  boat,  sometimes  staying  at  wretched  taverns, 
or  worse,  in  the  deadly  cold  spare  bedroom  of  a  pri 
vate  house,  now  in  fine  hotels,  sometimes  dragging 
his  trunk  through  the  suffocating  corridors  of  a 
burning  inn,  sometimes  crossing  the  Mississippi  in 
an  open  boat,  partly  on  ice,  partly  in  water,  —  he 


CROSSING  THE  MISSISSIPPI.  179 

went  cheerfully  and  found  much  to  admire  and  to 
enjoy,  ignoring  all  discomforts  or  making  the  best 
of  them.  In  the  journals,  always  taken  up  with 
thoughts,  recording  seldom  an  incident,  one  rarely 
finds  allusion  to  the  experiences  of  his  yearly  win 
ter  campaign.  Here  are  a  few  glimpses  of  this 

part  of  his  life  :  — 

"1851. 

"  You  write  a  discourse  and  for  the  next  weeks 
and  months  are  carted  about  the  country  at  the  tail 
of  that  discourse  simply  to  read  it  over  and  over." 

On  the  last  day  of  the  year  1855  he  writes  :  — 

"  I  have  crossed  the  Mississippi  on  foot  three 
times  "  between  the  Iowa  and  Illinois  shores,  re 
membering,  no  doubt,  as  he  slid  along  the  line  in 
which  he  delighted  in  the  old  Danish  ballad,  Svend 
Vonved,  — 

"Ice  is  of  bridges  the  bridge  most  broad." 

At  the  Le  Claire  House  in  Davenport  he  noted 
for  his  guidance  the  posted  rules  of  the  house : 
"  No  gentleman  permitted  to  sit  at  the  table  with 
out  his  coat.  No  gambling  permitted  in  the 
house,"  and  heard  his  stalwart  table-companions 
between  their  talk  of  land-sales  call  for  "  a  quarter- 
section  of  that  pie."  At  Rock  Island  he  finds  him 
self  advertised  as  "The  Celebrated  Metaphysician," 
at  Davenport  as  "  The  Essayist  and  Poet." 

Though  once  he  said  that  in  hotels  "  the  air  is 


180  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

buttered  —  the  whole  air  a  volatilized  beef -steak," 
he  usually  rather  praises  than  finds  fault,  for  as 
early  as  1843  he  wrote  :  "  An  American  is  served 
like  a  noble  in  these  city  hotels,  and  his  individu 
ality  as  much  respected  ;  and  he  may  go  imperially 
along  all  the  highways  of  iron  and  water.  I  like 
it  very  well  that  in  the  heart  of  democracy  I  find 
such  practical  illustration  of  high  theories." 

"  I  am  greatly  pleased  with  the  merchants.  In 
railway  cars  and  hotels  it  is  common  to  meet  only 
the  successful  class  and  so  we  have  favorable  speci 
mens,  but  these  discover  more  manly  power  of  all 
kinds  than  scholars;  behave  a  great  deal  better, 
converse  better,  and  have  independent  and  sufficient 
manners." 

He  was  still  at  school,  and  again  writes :  — 

"  Travelling  is  a  very  humiliating  experience  to 
me.  I  never  go  to  any  church  like  a  railroad  car 
for  teaching  me  my  deficiencies." 

In  Detroit,  Chicago,  Milwaukee,  and  on  the  trains 
he  found  John  W.  Brooks,  Keuben  N.  Rice,  the 
Hurds,  Hosmers,  Warrens,  and  other  young  men 
from  Concord  or  its  neighborhood,  and  year  by 
year  the  enterprising  young  people  of  the  growing 
West  met  him,  helped  him  in  every  way  they 
could,  and  gave  him  real  pleasure  by  showing  not 
only  the  great  material  prosperity  of  the  country, 
but  that  intellectual  and  spiritual  interests  also 
grew. 


WESTERN  TOWNS.  181 

In  January,  1867,  Mr.  Emerson  wrote  from  Fond 
du  Lac,  Wisconsin,  to  his  ever-helpful  friend,  Mr. 
Wiley,  of  Chicago :  "  Such  a  citizen  of  the  world  as 
you  are  should  look  once  at  these  northern  towns, 
which  I  have  seen  under  the  perhaps  too  smiling 
face  of  the  mildest,  best  winter  weather,  which  may 
be  exceptional,  though  the  people  almost  to  a  man 
extol  their  climate.  Minneapolis  would  strongly 
attract  me  if  I  were  a  young  man,  —  more  than  St. 
Paul,  —  and  this  town  [Fond  du  Lac]  is  a  wonder 
ful  growth,  and  shines  like  a  dream  seen  this  morn 
from  the  top  of  Amory  Hall." 

On  these  journeys  he  always  had  one  or  two 
books  in  his  satchel,  often  Latin  or  French. 

"  One  should  dignify  and  entertain  and  signalize 
each  journey  or  adventure  by  carrying  to  it  a  liter 
ary  masterpiece  and  making  acquaintance  with  it 
on  the  way, — Dante's  Vita  Nuova,  Horace,  JEschy- 
lus,  Goethe,  Beaumarchais." 

When  his  eyes  tired,  the  level  prairie  landscape, 
made  even  more  monotonous  by  its  mantle  of  snow, 
though  here  and  there  it  was  varied  by  a  grove  or 
timbered  river-bottom,  gave  such  relief  as  it  could. 
Here  is  the  rolling  panorama  rendered  into  a  prose- 
poem  :  — 

"  The  engineer  was  goading  his  boilers  with  pine 
knots.  The  traveller  looked  out  of  the  car  win 
dow;  the  fences  passed  languidly  by;  he  could 
scan  curiously  every  post.  But  very  soon  the  jerk 


182  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

of  every  pulse  of  the  engine  was  felt ;  the  whistle 
of  the  engineer  moaned  short  moans  as  it  swept 
across  the  highway.  He  gazed  out  over  the  fields ; 
the  fences  were  tormented,  every  rail  and  rider 
twisted  past  the  window ;  the  snow-banks  swam 
past  like  fishes ;  the  near  trees  and  bushes  wove 
themselves  into  colored  ribbons ;  the  rocks,  walls, 
the  fields  themselves,  streaming  like  a  mill-tail. 
The  train  tore  on  with  jumps  and  jerks  that  tested 
the  strength  of  oak  and  iron.  The  passengers 
seemed  to  suffer  their  speed.  Meantime  the  wind 
cried  like  a  child,  complained  like  a  saw -mill, 
whistled  like  a  fife,  mowed  like  an  idiot,  roared  like 
the  sea,  and  at  last  yelled  like  a  demon." 

While  speaking  of  the  lecturer,  there  is  a  story 
told  me  by  one  of  my  father's  friends  in  a  neigh 
boring  town  that  gives  a  pleasant  picture. 

Mr.  Willard,  of  Harvard,  Mass.,  the  village  where 
William  Emerson  first  preached,  said  that  when 
my  father  came  to  lecture  there  many  years  ago 
the  Curator  of  the  Lyceum  rose  in  the  desk  and 
said :  "  I  have  the  pleasure  as  well  as  the  honor 
of  introducing  to  you  this  evening  the  Rever 
end  "  —  "  Oh,  we  can  do  without  the  '  Reverend,' 

Mr.  ,"  said  Mr.  Emerson,  looking  up  from 

his  papers,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  many  of 
the  audience,  who  were  much  amused.  He  used 
to  say,  "Never  mind  about  the  amount  of  com 
pensation,  I  will  always  come  here,  for  this  is  my 
father's  town." 


TERMINUS.  183 

In  the  month  of  December,  1866,  I,  returning 
from  six  months  on  a  Western  railroad,  met  my 
father  in  New  York  just  setting  out  for  his  winter's 
journey  to  the  West,  and  we  spent  the  night  to 
gether  at  the  St.  Denis  Hotel.  He  read  me  some 
poems  that  he  was  soon  to  publish  in  his  new  vol 
ume,  May  Day,  and  among  them  Terminus.  I  was 
startled,  for  he,  looking  so  healthy,  so  full  of  life 
and  young  in  spirit,  was  reading  his  deliberate 
acknowledgment  of  failing  forces  and  his  trusting 
and  serene  acquiescence.  I  think  he  smiled  as  he 
read.  That  year  Harvard,  which  had  closed  her 
gates  to  him  after  his  Divinity  School  Address, 
again,  after  nearly  a  generation  had  passed,  opened 
them  wide  to  him,  for  a  new  spirit  had  come  upon 
her.  He  was  made  Doctor  of  Laws  and  Overseer ; 
in  1867,  asked  to  give  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  ad 
dress  once  more,  and  in  1869  was  invited  by  the 
College  to  give  a  course  of  lectures  on  Philosophy 
to  the  students. 

This  invitation  gave  him  pleasure,  but  came  too 
late.  He  had  said  to  a  friend,  "  I  never  was  a 
metaphysician,  but  I  have  observed  the  operations 
of  my  faculties  for  a  long  time  and  noted  them, 
and  no  metaphysician  can  afford  to  do  without 
what  I  have  to  say."  These  notes  he  now  endeav 
ored  to  bring  into  form.  He  called  this  course 
the  Natural  History  of  the  Intellect,  but  his 
strength  was  beginning  to  fail,  the  ordering  of  his 


184  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ideas,  always  to  him  the  difficult  part  of  his  work, 
was  especially  important  in  such  lectures,  and  the 
stress  of  preparing  two  new  lectures  a  week  for  six 
weeks  was  too  much  for  his  strength.  His  necessi 
ties  obliged  him  still  to  work  hard,  giving  lectures 
and  readings  in  the  winter  and  composing  during 
the  summer.  It  was  always  difficult  to  make  him 
take  a  vacation.  Mere  amusement  he  could  not 
take.  When  he  could  not  write,  then  he  read  or 
went  to  his  woods,  but  reading  or  walking  were 
alike  seeding  for  his  crops. 

During  the  decade  between  1860  and  1870  he 
took  great  pleasure  in  meeting  once  a  month  at 
dinner  in  Boston  the  members  of  the  Saturday1 
Club,  Agassiz,  Lowell,  Holmes,  Longfellow,  Nor 
ton,  Hawthorne,  Judge  Hoar,  Governor  Andrew, 
Senator  Sumner,  Elliot  Cabot,  John  M.  Forbes, 
and  other  friends. 

He  continued  his  usual  work,  but  in  a  less  de 
gree,  during  1870  and  1871  going  less  far  to  the 
westward  in  winter,  the  College  course  however 
giving  him  most  anxiety  and  fatigue.  In  the  spring 
of  1871  Mr.  John  M.  Forbes,  a  valued  friend 
through  many  years,  saw  how  Mr.  Emerson's  work 
was  telling  on  him,  and  that  he  would  not  take  the 
needed  rest,  and  insisted  on  carrying  him  off  as  his 
guest  on  a  vacation  trip  to  California  under  the 
pleasantest  conditions.  His  friend  Mr.  James  B. 
1  Sometimes  spoken  of  as  the  Atlantic  Club,  but  not  the 


BURNING  OF  HIS  HOUSE.  185 

Thayer,  who  afterward  wrote  an  account  of  this 
journey,  Mr.  Emerson's  daughter  Edith,  her  hus 
band,  Colonel  William  H.  Forbes,  and  other  friends, 
were  of  the  party.  The  excursion  greatly  refreshed 
him  and  very  probably  prolonged  his  life.  The 
next  winter,  though  he  had  not  meant  to  go  to  the 
West  again,  Mr.  Emerson  would  not  refuse  the 
appeal  of  burnt  Chicago,  and  for  her  sake  gave  up 
his  Thanksgiving  festival  at  home,  at  which  all  the 
clan  gathered  yearly  about  his  board. 

The  failure  of  his  strength,  and  especially  his 
memory,  showed  in  the  lectures  given  in  Boston  in 
the  winter  of  1871-2,  but  had  hardly  been  gener 
ally  perceived  until  after  the  sickness  following  the 
exposure,  excitement  and  fatigue  undergone  on  the 
morning  of  July,  1872,  when  he  and  his  wife  awoke 
to  escape,  imperfectly  clad,  from  their  house  in 
flames,  into  the  rain,  and  then  had  worked  beyond 
their  strength  with  their  zealous  and  helpful  neigh 
bors  in  saving  their  effects. 

His  good  friends  sent  him  abroad  with  his  daugh 
ter  Ellen  for  his  rest  and  pleasure  while  his  house 
was  being  rebuilt  by  their  kindness.  Mr.  William 
Kalph  Emerson,  his  kinsman,  generously  gave  plans 
and  advice  for  the  restoration  of  the  house,  and 
Mr.  John  S.  Keyes  offered  to  superintend  the  work, 
giving  much  time  and  care  to  it,  and  through  these 
acts  of  thoughtful  kindness  Mr.  Emerson  was  set 
free  to  travel  and  recruit  his  powers.  Before  he 


186  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

went,  while  many  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  to 
him  and  his  family,  he  chose  the  Manse,  the  Con 
cord  home  of  his  youth  and  boyhood,  where  his 
cousin,  Miss  Ripley,  affectionately  received  them. 
A  semblance  of  a  study  was  fitted  up  for  him  in 
the  Court  House,  but  he  could  not  work,  —  only 
search  for  and  endeavor  to  sort  his  manuscripts. 
He  wrote  to  his  friend  Dr.  Furness  :  — 

"August  II,  1872. 

...  "It  is  too  ridiculous  that  a  fire  should 
make  an  old  scholar  sick:  but  the  exposures  of 
that  morning  and  the  necessities  of  the  following 
days  which  kept  me  a  large  part  of  the  time  in  the 
blaze  of  the  sun  have  in  every  way  demoralized  me 
for  the  present,  —  incapable  of  any  sane  or  just 
action."  [He  tells  that  the  portrait  of  his  daughter 
Edith,  painted  by  young  William  Furness,  was 
saved  from  fire,  and  then,  after  apologizing  for 
various  f orgetf ulnesses  in  acknowledging  letters  he 
ends :  — ]  "  These  signal  proofs  of  my  debility  and 
decay  ought  to  persuade  you  at  your  first  northern 
excursion  to  come  and  reanimate  and  renew  the 
failing  powers  of  your  still  affectionate  old  Friend, 

"K.  W.  EMERSON." 

Mr.  Emerson  sailed  for  England  in  the  autumn 
of  1872,  made  a  short  stay  in  London  and  Paris, 
Florence  and  Rome,  too  much  broken  to  take  much 


WELCOME  HOME.  187 

pleasure,  but  felt  a  real  desire  to  go  up  the  ancient 
Nile,  and  found  better  health  and  some  enjoyment 
in  this  winter  trip  as  far  as  Philae,  as  he  said  he 
should  be  unwilling  to  go  home  after  having  come 
so  far,  really  attracted  to  Egypt  by  a  wish  to  see 
the  grave  of  "  him  who  lies  buried  at  Philse."  1 

He  was  so  far  improved  in  health  that  he  was 
willing  to  spend  the  spring  in  England  and  go 
about  among  people,  and  he  everywhere  met  with 
great  courtesy  and  kindness.  He  saw  once  more 
his  friend  Carlyle,  then  feeble  and  sad,  and  other 
friends  old  and  new,  but  he  was  in  even  greater 
haste  to  return  home  than  in  1834,  and  gladly 
landed  in  Boston  in  May. 

When  the  train  reached  Concord,  the  bells  were 
rung  and  a  great  company  of  his  neighbors  and 
friends  accompanied  him,  under  a  triumphal  arch, 
to  his  restored  house.  He  was  greatly  moved,  but 
with  characteristic  modesty  insisted  that  this  was 
a  welcome  to  his  daughter  and  could  not  be  meant 
for  him.  Although  he  had  felt  quite  unable  to 
make  any  speech,  yet  seeing  his  friendly  towns 
people,  old  and  young  in  groups  watching  him 
enter  his  own  door  once  more,  he  turned  suddenly 
back  and  going  to  the  gate  said  :  "  My  friends  !  I 
know  that  this  is  not  a  tribute  to  an  old  man  and 
his  daughter  returned  to  their  house,  but  to  the 
common  blood  of  us  all  —  one  family  —  in  Con 
cord  !  " 

1  Isis  here  deposited  the  remains  of  Osiris. 


188  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

The  feverish  attack  following  the  burning  of  his 
house,  which  he  alluded  to  in  his  letter  to  Dr. 
Furness,  seemed  to  him  an  admonition  to  put  his 
affairs  in  order  before  he  should  die.  He  there 
fore,  during  a  journey  taken  that  summer  with  his 
daughter  Ellen  to  Waterford,  Maine,  thought  and 
talked  much  to  this  purpose,  and  his  directions  were 
written  down.  The  question  daily  recurring,  who 
should  be  his  literary  executor,  troubled  him,  and 
though  Mr.  Cabot  was  constantly  in  his  thought, 
the  favor  seemed  to  him  all  too  great  to  ask  of 
him.  His  family  resolved  that  they  must  ask  this 
great  gift  for  him  from  his  friend.  When  told 
that  a  most  generous  and  cordial  consent  had  been 
given,  his  heart  was  set  entirely  at  rest. 

Mr.  Emerson,  after  his  return  from  Europe, 
applied  himself  diligently  day  after  day  to  correct 
ing  and  revising  the  proofs  laid  down  at  the  time 
of  the  fire,  but  soon,  though  something  was  accom 
plished,  it  became  sadly  evident  that  he  needed 
skilled  assistance  to  complete  the  work.  Meantime 
the  English  and  American  publishers  pressed  him 
for  the  book,  long  due,  from  which  only  his  broken 
health  had  obtained  for  him  a  reprieve.  It  was 
natural  for  the  family  in  this  emergency  to  turn  to 
Mr.  Cabot.  They  proposed  to  him  to  begin  his  task 
during  my  father's  lifetime  and  put  this  book  in 
order.  He  came,  and  the  tangled  skein  smoothed 
itself  under  his  hand,  and  Mr.  Emerson,  when  the 


MR.   CABOT'S  HELP.  189 

work  was  laid  before  him  with  the  weak  points 
marked,  was  able  to  write  the  needed  sentence  or 
recast  the  defective  one,  so  that  after  a  few  visits 
from  Mr.  Cabot  the  book,  which  had  long  pre 
sented  insuperable  difficulties,  had  taken  definite 
shape,  and  was  ready  in  season  for  the  publishers. 
And  not  only  was  this  done  and  the  long  anxiety 
about  the  literary  executorship  dispelled,  but  to 
have  this  friend,  whom  he  had  never  seen  so  much 
of  as  he  desired,  thus  brought  often  to  his  house 
and  drawn  nearer  was  an  inexhaustible  pleasure. 
He  always  spoke  of  Letters  and  Social  Aims  to 
Mr.  Cabot  as  "  your  book."  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  industry  and  skill  brought  to  the  task,  nor  the 
delicacy  and  kindness  shown  throughout,  and  the 
peace  of  mind  thus  procured  made  Mr.  Emerson's 
last  days  happy.  He  allowed  his  children  to  ask 
Mr.  Cabot  to  write  his  biography  in  the  future,  and 
when,  with  great  hesitation  and  modesty,  a  consent 
was  given,  was  well  content.  He  felt  towards  Mr. 
Cabot  as  to  a  younger  brother. 

In  1875  Mr.  Emerson  was  nominated  by  the  In 
dependents  among  the  students  of  the  University 
of  Glasgow  for  the  office  of  Lord  Rector  for  that 
year,  and  received  five  hundred  votes,  Lord  Bea- 
consfield,  the  successful  candidate,  having  seven 
hundred.  It  was  fortunate  that  Mr.  Emerson 
failed  of  election,  for  the  duty  of  the  Lord  Rector 
was  to  deliver  the  annual  address  to  the  students, 


190  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

and  for  this  task  and  the  two  voyages  he  was  no 
longer  fit. 

Soon  after,  he  was  notified  of  his  election  as  as 
sociate  member  of  the  French  Academy.  In  1876 
he  received  his  first  call  from  the  South,  and  not 
liking  to  say  nay,  went  thither  accompanied  by  his 
daughter  and  read  an  address  (of  course  written 
some  time  before)  to  the  Literary  Societies  of  the 
University  of  Virginia.  The  paper  was  a  charac 
teristic  paean  over  the  happiness  of  the  scholar, 
who,  he  always  said,  "  had  drawn  the  white  lot  in 
life."  The  war  was  too  recent  for  this  occasion  to 
be  entirely  a  pleasant  one. 

His  last  few  years  were  quiet  and  happy.  Na 
ture  gently  drew  the  veil  over  his  eyes ;  he  went  to 
his  study  and  tried  to  work,  accomplished  less  and 
less,  but  did  not  notice  it.  However  he  made  out 
to  look  over  and  index  most  of  his  journals.  He 
enjoyed  reading,  but  found  so  much  difficulty  in 
conversation  in  associating  the  right  word  with  his 
idea,  that  he  avoided  going  into  company,  and  on 
that  account  gradually  ceased  to  attend  the  meet 
ings  of  the  Social  Circle.  As  his  critical  sense  be 
came  dulled,  his  standard  of  intellectual  perform 
ance  was  less  exacting,  and  this  was  most  fortunate, 
for  he  gladly  went  to  any  public  occasion  where  he 
could  hear,  and  nothing  would  be  expected  of  him. 
He  attended  the  Lyceum  and  all  occasions  of 
speaking  or  reading  in  the  Town  Hall  with  unfail 
ing  pleasure. 


THE  LAST  YEARS.  191 

He  read  a  lecture  before  his  townspeople  each 
winter  as  late  as  1880,  but  needed  to  have  one  of 
his  family  near  by  to  help  him  out  with  a  word 
and  assist  in  keeping  the  place  in  his  manuscript. 
In  these  last  years  he  liked  to  go  to  church.  The 
instinct  had  been  always  there,  but  he  had  felt  that 
he  could  use  his  time  to  better  purpose. 

Friendly  letters  came  by  every  mail,  and  some 
very  astonishing  ones  ;  visitors  often  came,  and  were 
kindly  received  by  him.  His  books,  which,  during 
the  first  ten  or  fifteen  years  after  they  began  to  ap 
pear,  the  publishers  had  called  "  very  poor-paying 
stock,"  now  found  a  ready  sale  and  were  widely 
distributed  and  known,  and  were  translated  into 
other  languages. 

I  read  last  year  in  the  "  Century  Magazine  "  a 
sad  story  of  a  young  Russian  who,  in  despair,  had 
lately  ended  his  life  by  his  own  act,  in  far  Siberia, 
and  who  was  first  imprisoned,  as  a  student,  for  hav 
ing  in  his  possession  a  borrowed  copy  of  the  essay 
on  Self-Reliance. 

In  a  letter  to  my  father  in  1854  Horatio  Green- 
ough,  the  sculptor,  wrote  :  "  I  found  your  Repre 
sentative  Men  in  the  hands  of  a  dame  du  palais 
in  Vienna  in  184'8,  and  have  learned  that  she  has 
been  exiled,  having  made  herself  politically  ob 
noxious." 

In  1857,  after  a  happy  walk  with  Thoreau, 
Mr.  Emerson  recounted  in  his  journal  the  treas- 


192  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ures  that  this  high-steward  of  Nature  had  shown 
him,  and  went  on  :  — 

"  But  I  was  taken  with  the  aspects  of  the  forest, 
and  thought  that  to  Nero  advertising  for  a  new 
pleasure,  a  walk  in  the  woods  should  have  been 
offered.  'T  is  one  of  the  secrets  for  dodging  old 
age." 

TO  THE  WOODS. 

"  Whoso  goeth  in  your  paths  readeth  the  same 
cheerful  lesson,  whether  he  be  a  young  child  or  a 
hundred  years  old.  Comes  he  in  good  fortune  or 
in  bad,  ye  say  the  same  things,  and  from  age  to  age. 
Ever  the  needles  of  the  pine  grow  and  fall,  the 
acorns  on  the  oak ;  the  maples  redden  in  autumn, 
and  at  all  times  of  the  year  the  ground-pine  and 
the  pyrola  bud  and  root  under  foot.  What  is 
called  fortune  and  what  is  called  time  by  men,  ye 
know  them  not.  Men  have  not  language  to  de 
scribe  one  moment  of  your  life.  When  you  shall 
give  me  somewhat  to  say,  give  me  also  the  tune 
wherein  to  say  it.  Give  me  a  tune  like  your  winds 
or  brooks  or  birds,  for  the  songs  of  men  grow  old, 
when  they  are  repeated ;  but  yours,  though  a  man 
have  heard  them  for  seventy  years,  are  never  the 
same,  but  always  new,  like  Time  itself,  or  like 
love." 

He  could  see  his  woods  from  the  car  window, 
and  said,  "  when  I  pass  them  on  the  way  to  the 
city,  how  they  reproach  me  I  " 


WALKING.  193 

When  Ol!  Age  came  he  found  him  still  walking 
in  the  woods  and  that  the  spirit  was  proof  against 
his  attacks,  though  he  might  injure  the  organs  and 
frame.  My  father  walked  to  the  last,  and  liked  to 
go  to  the  woods,  but  could  not  walk  so  far  as  in 
earlier  days,  and  Walden  woods  were  so  sadly 
changed  by  publicity  from  the  green  temples  that 
first  he  knew,  that  he  had  little  pleasure  in  going 
to  them. 

All  through  life  he  was  cheerful  by  temperament 
;and  on  principle,  and  in  his  last  days  he  was  very 
happy.  He  took  great  pleasure  in  his  home.  He 
loved  his  country,  his  town,  his  wife,  his  family, 
and  constantly  rejoiced  in  the  happiness  of  his  lot. 

In  April,  1882,  a  raw  and  backward  spring,  he 
caught  cold  and  increased  it  by  walking  out  in  the 
rain  and,  through  forgetfulness,  omitting  to  put  on 
his  overcoat.  He  had  a  hoarse  cold  for  a  few  days, 
•and  on  the  evening  of  April  nineteenth  I  found 
Mm  a  little  feverish,  so  went  to  see  him  next  day. 
He  was  asleep  on  his  study  sofa,  and  when  he  woke 
Jbe  proved  to  be  more  feverish  and  a  little  bewil 
dered,  with  unusual  difficulty  in  finding  the  right 
word.  He  was  entirely  comfortable  and  enjoyed 
talking,  and  as  he  liked  to  have  me  read  to  him,  I 
read  Paul  Eevere's  Eide,  finding  that  he  could 
only  follow  simple  narrative.  He  expressed  great 
pleasure,  was  delighted  that  the  story  was  part  of 
Concord's  story,  but  was  sure  he  had  never  heard 


194  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

it  before,  and  could  hardly  be  made  to  understand 
who  Longfellow  was,  though  he  had  attended  his 
funeral  only  the  week  before.  Yet,  though  dulled 
to  other  impressions,  to  one  he  was  fresh  as  long 
as  he  could  understand  anything,  and  while  even 
the  familiar  objects  of  his  study  began  to  look 
strange  he  smiled  and  pointed  to  Carlyle's  head 
and  said,  "  That  is  my  man,  my  good  man ! "  I 
mention  this  because  it  has  been  said  that  this 
friendship  cooled  and  that  my  father  had  for  long 
years  neglected  to  write  to  his  early  friend.  He 
was  loyal  while  life  lasted,  but  had  been  unable 
to  write  a  letter  for  years  before  he  died.  Their 
friendship  did  not  need  letters. 

The  next  day  pneumonia  developed  itself  in  a 
portion  of  one  lung  and  he  seemed  much  sicker ; 
evidently  believed  he  was  to  die,  and  with  difficulty 
made  out  to  give  a  word  or  two  of  instructions  to 
his  children.  He  did  not  know  how  to  be  sick  and 
desired  to  be  dressed  and  sit  in  his  study,  and  as 
we  had  found  that  any  attempt  to  regulate  his 
actions  lately  was  very  annoying  to  him,  and  he 
could  not  be  made  to  understand  the  reasons  for 
our  doing  so  in  his  condition,  I  determined  that  it 
would  not  be  worth  while  to  trouble  and  restrain 
him  as  it  would  a  younger  person  who  had  more  to 
live  for.  He  had  lived  free:  his  life  was  essen 
tially  spent,  and  in  what  must  almost  surely  be  his 
last  illness  we  would  not  embitter  the  occasion  by 
any  restraint  that  was  not  absolutely  unavoidable. 


DEATH.  195 

He  suffered  very  little,  took  his  nourishment 
well,  but  had  great  annoyance  from  his  inability  to 
find  the  words  which  he  wished  for.  He  knew  his 
friends  and  family,  but  thought  that  he  was  in  a 
strange  house.  He  sat  up  in  a  chair  by  the  fire 
much  of  the  time,  and  only  on  the  last  day  stayed 
entirely  in  bed.  Dr.  Charles  P.  Putnam  advised 
with  me  about  his  treatment. 

During  the  sickness  he  always  showed  pleasure 
when  his  wife  sat  by  his  side,  and  on  one  of 
the  last  days  he  managed  to  express,  in  spite  of 
his  difficulty  with  words,  how  long  and  happily 
they  had  lived  together.  The  sight  of  his  grand 
children  always  brought  the  brightest  smile  to  his 
face.  On  the  last  day  he  saw  several  of  his  friends 
and  took  leave  of  them.  When  it  was  told  him 
that  Mr.  Cabot  had  come,  his  face  lighted  up,  and 
he  exclaimed,  "  Elliot  Cabot  ?  Praise  !  " 

Only  at  the  last  came  pain,  and  this  was  at  once 
relieved  by  ether,  and  in  the  quiet  sleep  thus  pro 
duced  he  gradually  faded  away  in  the  evening  of 
Thursday  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  April,  1882. 
His  death  was  from  weakness,  not  from  the  extent 
of  the  disease  in  the  lung. 

Thirty-five  years  earlier  he  wrote  in  his  journal 
(October  21,  1837)  :  "  I  said  when  I  awoke, 
After  some  more  sleepings  and  wakings  I  shall 
lie  on  this  mattress  sick  ;  then  dead  ;  and  through 
my  gay  entry  they  will  carry  these  bones.  Where 


196  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

shall  I  be  then  ?  I  lifted  my  head  and  beheld  the 
spotless  orange  light  of  the  morning  beaming  up 
from  the  dark  hills  into  the  wide  universe." 

On  Sunday,  the  thirtieth  of  April,  his  body  was 
laid  first  by  the  altar  in  the  old  church  while  the 
farewell  words  were  spoken  in  the  presence  of  a 
great  assembly  of  friends  and  townsmen  and  many 
who  had  come  from  afar  to  do  him  reverence,  then 
under  the  pine  -  tree  which  he  had  chosen  on  the 
hill  above  Sleepy  Hollow  by  the  graves  of  his 
mother  and  child  ;  even  as  he  had  written,  when  a 
youth  in  Newton,  "  Here  sit  Mother  and  I  under 
the  pine-tree,  still  almost  as  we  shall  lie  by  and 
by  under  them." 


There  remain  a  few  points,  which,  though  touched 
on  in  the  foregoing  sketch,  could  not  there,  without 
too  great  interruption  of  the  narrative,  be  so  fully 
stated  as  seems  to  me  desirable.  I  have  therefore 
reserved  them  for  mention  here,  unwilling  to  let 
pass  this  opportunity  to  say  what  I  think  to  be  the 
truth  regarding  my  father's  characteristic  opinions 
and  actions  where  they  have  been  called  in  ques 
tion. 

Much  has  been  said  in  print  of  Mr.  Emerson's 
"shrewdness,"  and  those  who  delight  in  classic 


SHREWDNESS.  197 

contrasts,  like  those  made  by  Plutarch  between  his 
heroes,  have  pleased  themselves  by  heightening  the 
effect  of  Carlyle's  ill-health,  incapacity  for  looking 
after  his  own  interests  and  consequent  poverty,  by 
allusion  to  the  health  and  prosperity  of  his  friend 
with  his  "Yankee"  traits.  Certainly  the  men 
were  very  unlike,  —  so  much  so  that  it  is  most  for 
tunate  that  that  enduring  friendship  was  never  put 
to  the  severe  test  of  Carlyle's  coming  to  dwell  in 
Concord,  as  Mr.  Emerson  long  hoped  he  would,  — 
but  the  comparisons  that  have  often  been  made  do 
not  tell  the  story  rightly. 

As  for  health,  Mr.  Emerson's  early  letters  show 
that  for  ten  years,  from  the  time  he  taught  school 
in  Boston  until  his  first  voyage  to  Europe  in  1833, 
he  struggled  hard  against  disease,  to  which  both  of 
his  younger  brothers  succumbed,  and  won  his  way 
through  to  the  good  health  of  his  active  life  as 
writer  and  lecturer  by  sacrifice,  prudence,  and  more 
than  all  by  good  hope;  sometimes  hope  against 
hope. 

As  for  shrewdness,  and  prosperity,  he  began  life 
burdened  with  responsibilities  and  with  debts  from 
which  by  hard  work  and  the  closest  economy  he 
had  just  freed  himself,  when  trouble  threatening 
lungs  and  hip  obliged  him  to  decline  good  opportu 
nities  of  settling  himself  over  a  parish,  and  accept 
the  kindly  help  of  his  kinsman  to  enable  him  to 
go  into  long  banishment  for  his  health's  sake  in 


198  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

the  South.  The  property  that  came  to  him  later 
gave  him  respite  and  helped  save  his  life,  but  was 
impaired  by  various  claims  that  he  willingly  recog 
nized  and  responsibilities  which  he  assumed  to  his 
kin  by  blood  and  marriage,  and  also  by  sympathy 
of  ideas,  —  he  always  had  "  Ms  poor,"  of  whom 
few  or  none  else  took  heed,  —  so  that  he  soon  came 
under  the  necessity  of  strict  economy  and  constant 
arduous  work  to  keep  free  from  debt. 

The  whole  tale  of  the  shrewdness  has  been  told 
when  it  has  been  said  that  he  was  usually  right  in 
his  instincts  of  the  character  of  the  persons  with 
whom  he  dealt  (though  often  he  imputed  more 
virtue  than  was  rightly  there),  and  that  he  avoided 
being  harnessed  into  enterprises  not  rightly  his, 
lived  simply,  served  himself  and  went  without 
things  which  he  could  not  afford,  only  however  to 
give  freely  for  what  public  or  private  end  seemed 
desirable  or  commanding  on  another  and  better 
day.  These  simple  rules  were  his  utmost  skill. 
He  had  no  business  faculty  or  even  ordinary  skill 
in  figures ;  could  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
be  made  to  understand  an  account,  and  his  dealings 
with  the  American  publishers  on  behalf  of  Mr. 
Carlyle,  adduced  in  proof  of  his  Yankee  "  faculty," 
really  only  shows  what  love  and  loyalty  he  bore  his 
friend,  that  he  would  freely  undertake  for  him 
duties  so  uncongenial  and,  —  but  for  outside  help 
and  expert  counsel,  —  almost  impossible  for  him. 


FINANCIAL  MATTERS.  199 

For  many  years  he  made  his  own  arrangements 
for  lectures,  undertaking  courses  in  Boston  at  his 
own  risk  and  giving  lectures  in  the  courses  of  Ly 
ceums  which  applied  to  him  in  the  East  and  the 
West,  arranging  the  terms  by  correspondence  with 
the  committees,  usually  accepting  those  they  offered, 
—  small  compensation  even  in  cities,  and  in  the 
country  towns  almost  nominal.  Often  he  gave  his 
lectures  without  compensation  to  little  towns  in  the 
neighborhood  with  small  means,  for  he  had  a  great 
tenderness  for  the  country  Lyceum  as  the  best  gift 
a  village  had  for  its  thoughtful  persons,  especially 
the  youth.  Later  the  remuneration  was  better, 
liberal  in  the  large  cities,  and  these,  especially  in 
the  West,  made  arrangements  with  many  towns  in 
the  neighborhood  each  to  engage  a  lecture,  and  this 
custom  soon  gave  rise  to  Lyceum  Bureau  system. 

Happily  he  had  always  friends  ready  with  wise 
counsel  or,  if  need  were,  with  helping  hand,  to 
bridge  over  any  difficulty.  Their  counsel  he  gladly 
used,  but  always  shrank  from  pecuniary  aid  that 
could  not  be  repaid,  though  on  two  occasions  in  his 
latter  years  he  brought  himself  to  allow  so  much 
for  friendship's  sake. 

His  friend  and  parishioner,  Mr.  Abel  Adams,  a 
Boston  merchant  of  most  simple  and  sterling  char 
acter,  earlier  mentioned  in  this  narrative,  was  for 
many  years  his  business  adviser.  The  failure  of 
some  Vermont  railroads  in  which  Mr.  Adams  had 


200  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

himself  put  much  money,  and  advised  them  as  an 
investment  to  my  father,  so  troubled  this  good  man 
that  he  insisted  on  assuming  charge  of  the  expense 
of  Mr.  Emerson's  son  while  in  Harvard  College 
during  the  hard  times  due  to  the  war.  It  was  only 
from  so  dear  and  old  a  friend,  and  after  consider 
ing  the  proposition  for  some  time,  that  my  father 
was  willing  to  accept  this  gift. 

Mr.  Emerson's  contracts  with  his  publishers 
were  made  by  himself,  and,  as  a  result,  not  greatly 
to  his  advantage,  so  that  the  sums  received  from 
his  books,  though  the  sales  constantly  increased, 
were  small. 

A  trusted  agent  who  quarterly  gave  what  seemed 
to  my  father  "masterly  and  clear-headed  state 
ments  of  account "  of  his  real  estate,  but  very  lit 
tle  money,  after  years  of  fraud,  had  the  property 
barely  saved  from  his  grasp  before  he  defaulted, 
by  Mr.  Emerson's  son-in-law.  Mr.  Forbes  then 
asked  my  father's  leave  to  take  charge  also  of  his 
business  arrangements  about  his  books,  and  very 
soon  the  returns  from  the  sale  of  these  were 
doubled,  partly  owing  to  the  increasing  demand, 
but  more  to  the  good  oversight  and  management. 
The  shrewd  Mr.  Emerson  was  astonished  and  al 
most  troubled  at  his  champion's  audacity,  and  felt 
almost  ashamed  to  receive  his  dues.1  But  for  this 

1  It  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Mr.  James  T.  Fields,  at  one  time 
Mr.  Emerson's  publisher,  to  say  that  he  was  always  a  friend  and 
did  him  all  kinds  of  substantial  service. 


THE  REFORMERS.  201 

timely  aid  Mr.  Emerson,  in  the  last  years  of  his 
life,  would  have  been  vexed  with  serious  anxieties 
about  money  matters  when  he  could  no  longer 
earn. 

The  noble  gift  which  his  friends  forced  upon  him, 
to  rebuild  his  house  and  send  him  abroad,  extended 
farther,  and  helped  to  make  his  last  years  comfort 
able. 

Many  persons  who  held  Mr.  Emerson  in  high 
regard  felt  that  he  was  the  dupe  of  the  Keformers, 
the  strange  beings  that  filled  the  roads  in  those 
days  and  have  been  so  wittily  described  by  Haw 
thorne  and  others,  — 

"  Dreamers  of  dreams,  born  out  of  their  due  time." 

Of  these  poor  souls  Mr.  Emerson  was  very  ten 
der.  The  parish  poor  and  the  African  had  their 
friends  and  defenders,  but  these  were  his  poor. 

1841. 

Journal.  "  Kich  say  you  ?  Are  you  rich  ?  how 
rich?  rich  enough  to  help  anybody?  rich  enough 
to  succor  the  friendless,  the  unfashionable,  the  ec 
centric?  rich  enough  to  make  the  Canadian  in 
his  wagon,  the  travelling  beggar  with  his  written 
paper  which  recommends  him  to  the  charitable,  the 
Italian  foreigner  with  his  few  broken  words  of 
English,  the  ugly  lame  pauper  hunted  by  overseers 


202  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

from  town  to  town,  even  the  poor  insane  or  half- 
insane  wreck  of  man  or  woman,  feel  the  noble  ex 
ception  of  your  presence  and  your  house  from  the 
general  bleakness  and  stoniness  ;  to  make  such  feel 
that  they  were  greeted  with  a  voice  that  made  them 
both  remember  and  hope  ?  What  is  vulgar  but  to 
refuse  the  claim?  What  is  gentle  but  to  allow 
it?"1 

That  he  saw  through  the  reformers,  and  that 
no  one  was  more  aware  of  their  shortcomings  than 
he,  the  extracts  that  I  shall  give  will  show ;  but  he 
believed  that  every  man  should  be  taken  by  his 
best  handle,  so  to  speak,  if  you  would  raise  him 
or  get  the  good  of  him.  Here  are  the  outcries 
that  would  come  when  he  came  back  to  his  study 
after  wearying  talks  with  these  "  monotones,"  as 
he  called  them  :  — 

1842. 

Journal.  "  Could  they  not  die  ?  or  succeed  ?  or 
help  themselves  ?  or  draw  others  ?  or  draw  me  ?  or 
offend  me  ?  in  any  manner,  I  care  not  how,  could 
they  not  be  disposed  of,  and  cease  to  hang  there  in 
the  horizon  an  unsettled  appearance,  too  great  to 
be  neglected,  and  not  great  enough  to  be  of  any 
aid  or  comfort  to  this  great  craving  humanity. 

1  This  passage  and  that  on  page  210,  though  printed  in  the  es 
say  on  MANNERS,  so  truly  describe  their  author's  action  that  it 
seemed  best  to  introduce  them. 


FRUIT-LANDS.  203 

Oh,  if  they  could  take  a  second  step,  and  a  third ! 
The  reformer  is  so  confident,  that  all  are  erect 
while  he  puts  his  finger  on  your  special  abuse  and 
tells  you  your  great  want  in  America.  I  tell  him, 
yea,  but  not  in  America  only,  but  in  the  universe 
ever  since  it  was  known,  just  this  defect  has  ap 
peared.  But  when  he  has  anatomized  the  evil,  he 
will  be  called  out  of  the  room,  or  have  got  some 
thing  else  in  his  head.  Remedied  it  will  never 
be." 

"  But  C.  L.  gives  a  good  account  of  his  conver 
sation  with  B ,  who  would  drive  him  to  an  ar 
gument.  He  took  his  pencil  and  paper  out  of  his 

pocket  and  asked  B to  give  him  the  names  of 

the  profoundest  men  in  America.     B stopped 

and  gave  him  one,  and  then  another,  and  then  his 

own  for  third.     B never  will  stop  and  listen, 

neither  in  conversation,  but  what  is  more,  not  in 
solitude." 

July  8, 1843. 

Journal.  "  The  sun  and  the  evening  sky  do  not 
look  calmer  than  Alcott  and  his  family  at  Fruit- 
lands.  They  seemed  to  have  arrived  at  the  fact, 
to  have  got  rid  of  the  show,  and  so  to  be  serene. 
Their  manners  and  behavior  in  the  house  and  in 
the  field  were  those  of  superior  men,  —  of  men  at 
rest.  What  had  they  to  conceal  ?  what  had  they  to 
exhibit  ?  and  it  seemed  so  high  an  attainment  that  I 
thought,  as  often  before,  so  now  more  because  they 


204  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

had  a  fit  home,  or  the  picture  was  fitly  framed,  that 
these  men  ought  to  be  maintained  in  their  place  by 
the  country  for  its  culture.  Young  men  and  young 
maidens,  old  men  and  women  should  visit  them  and 
be  inspired.  I  think  there  is  as  much  merit  in 
beautiful  manners  as  in  hard  work.  I  will  not 
prejudge  them  successful.  They  look  well  in  July. 
We  will  see  them  in  December.  I  know  they  are 
better  for  themselves,  than  as  partners.  One  can 
easily  see  that  they  have  yet  to  settle  several 
things.  Their  saying  that  things  are  clear  and 
they  sane,  does  not  make  them  so.  If  they  will  in 
very  deed  be  lovers  and  not  selfish ;  if  they  will 
serve  the  town  of  Harvard,  and  make  their  neigh 
bors  feel  them  as  benefactors,  wherever  they  touch 
them,  they  are  as  safe  as  the  sun." 

1842. 

Journal.  "  A  man  cannot  force  himself  by  any 
self-denying  ordinances,  neither  by  water  nor  pota 
toes,  nor  by  violent  passivities,  by  refusing  to  swear, 
refusing  to  pay  taxes,  by  going  to  jail,  or  by  taking 
another  man's  crop.  ...  By  none  of  these  ways 
can  he  free  himself,  no,  nor  by  paying  his  debts 
with  money ;  only  by  obedience  to  his  own  genius, 
only  by  the  freest  activity  in  the  way  constitutional 
to  him,  does  an  angel  seem  to  arise  and  lead  him 
by  the  hand  out  of  all  wards  of  the  prison." 


DEALINGS   WITH  THE  PROPHETS.       205 

1841. 

Journal.  "  I  weary  of  dealing  with  people  each 
cased  in  his  several  insanity.  Here  is  a  fine  per 
son  with  wonderful  gifts,  but  mad  as  the  rest  and 
madder,  and,  by  reason  of  his  great  genius,  which 
he  can  use  as  weapon  too,  harder  to  deal  with.  I 
would  gladly  stand  to  him  in  relation  of  a  bene 
factor,  as  screen  and  defence  to  me,  thereby  having 
him  at  some  advantage  and  on  my  own  terms,  that 
so  his  frenzy  may  not  annoy  me.  I  know  well  that 
this  wish  is  not  great,  but  small ;  is  mere  apology 
for  not  treating  him  frankly  and  manlike ;  but  I 
am  not  large  man  enough  to  treat  him  firmly  and 
unsympathetically  as  a  patient,  and  if  treated 
equally  and  sympathetically  as  sane,  his  disease 
makes  him  the  worst  of  bores." 

A  modern  novel-writer  subdivides  the  Saints 
into  the  simple  saints  and  the  knowing  ones,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  Mr.  Emerson  belonged  to  the 
latter  class. 

Here  is  a  parable  :  — 

"  You  ask,  O  Theanor,  said  Amphitryon,  that 
I  should  go  forth  from  this  palace  with  my  wife 
and  children,  and  that  you  and  your  family  may 
enter  and  possess  it.  The  same  request  in  sub 
stance  has  been  often  made  to  me  before  by  num 
bers  of  persons.  Now  I  also  think  that  1  and  my 
wife  ought  to  go  forth  from  the  house  and  work 


206  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

all  day  in  the  fields  and  lie  at  night  under  some 
thicket,  but  I  am  waiting  where  I  am,  only  until 
some  god  shall  point  out  to  me  which  among  all 
these  applicants,  yourself  or  some  other,  is  the 
rightful  claimant." 

Journal.  "  In  reference  to  the  philanthropies  of 
the  day  it  seems  better  to  use  than  to  flout  them. 
Shall  it  be  said  of  the  hero  that  he  opposed  all  the 
contemporary  good  because  it  was  not  grand  ?  I 
think  it  better  to  get  their  humble  good  and  to 
catch  the  golden  boon  of  purity  and  temperance 
and  mercy  from  these  poor  [preachers  and  reform 
ers]." 

To  the  most  advanced  souls  of  that  day  abstract 
speculations  had  quite  sunk  out  of  sight  and  mem 
ory  mundane  duties  of  themselves  or  those  whom 
they  would  enlist  or  enlighten,  and  it  is  easy  to 
see  that  their  entertainer  might  well  find  it  hard 
to  have  lecture  or  book  ready  on  a  certain  day. 
These  men  of  Olympian  leisure,  who  might  well 
have  inspired  the  poem  "  The  Visit,"  rose  only  re 
freshed  from  their  morning's  talk.  It  is  told  that 
at  one  house  visited  by  such  prophets,  the  little 
girl,  sent  to  reconnoitre,  returned  crying  out  in 
despair,  "  Mamma  !  they  Ve  begun  again  !  " 

It  is  but  fair  to  tell,  as  an  illustration  of  the  law 
of  compensation,  that  an  astounding  recoil  followed 


BACKSLIDERS.  207 

in  the  minds  and  practice  of  many  of  those  strange 
visitors  who  sat  around  the  table,  "  chacun  souriant 
a  sa  cliimere"  roundly  denouncing,  by  implica 
tion,  their  entertainers,  and  sometimes  starting  bolt 
upright  and  answering  to  their  hostess's  hospitable 
offers  of  service,  "  Tea !  I  ?  "  or,  "  Butter !  I  ?  " 
or  condemning  the  institutions  of  the  family  or  of 
domestic  service  to  which  they  at  the  moment 
owed  their  comfort.  The  most  notable  example 
was  that  of  one  of  those  apostles  who  had  come  to 
Mr.  Emerson  to  show  him  that  all  use  of  money 
was  wicked,  and  a  few  years  later  wrote  him  a 
simple  and  confident  letter,  telling  of  his  engage 
ment  to  a  lady,  —  the  counterpart  of  himself,  — 
and  that,  as  she  was  not  strong  and  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  work,  he  asked  Mr.  Emerson  to  "  send 
them  a  competence  "  to  be  married  on.  Later  one 
who  desired  a  better  education  and  was  sure  of  Mr. 
Emerson's  interest  in  the  plan,  wrote  for  the  money 
"  by  the  last  part  of  this  week  or  fore  part  of  next." 

The  felicitous  combination,  from  an  economical 
point  of  view,  of  the  diverse  tastes  of  the  pair  cel 
ebrated  in  Mother  Goose  may  have  suggested  this 
thought  to  the  entertainers  of  the  saints. :  — 

"  What  a  pity  that  the  insanities  of  our  insane 
are  not  complementary,  so  that  we  could  house  two 
of  them  together." 

Among  these  men-of-one-idea  he  mentions  one, 
perhaps  less  tedious  than  the  others  because  of  the 


208  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

novelty  of  his  mania,  who  explained  to  the  company 
in  the  coach  "  all  the  way  from  Middleborough,  his 
contrivances  for  defending  his  own  coffin  in  his 
grave  from  body-snatchers.  He  had  contrived  a 
pistol  to  go  off,  pop !  from  this  end,  and  a  pistol, 
pop !  from  that  end,  and  he  was  plainly  spending 
his  life  in  the  sweets  of  the  revenge  he  was  going 
to  take  after  death  on  the  young  doctors  that  should 
creep  to  his  graveyard." 

Another  reformer  who  came  to  New  England 
from  over  seas,  and  while  visiting  Mr.  Emerson 
was  a  very  Rhadamanthus  in  his  strictures  on  the 
social  fabric  of  the  times,  became  later  a  broker. 
But  amidst  these  lapses  one  shining  exception 
must  be  chronicled.  There  was  a  certain  wander 
ing  prophet  of  those  days,  careless  and  sceptical  of 
aught  else,  but  who  believed  in  the  Sun.  This 
saint  would  have  gone  attired  in  a  sheet  only,  a 
garment  readily  unfolded  or  completely  shed  when 
he  would  receive  benign  influences  shot  down  to 
him  from  the  Sun-god,  but  that  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  in  the  Community  which  he  would  have 
joined  and  converted,  told  him  with  decision  that 
he  must  wear  proper  clothes  or  depart  promptly. 
Under  these  restrictions  he  pined,  soon  took  the 
road,  and,  I  am  told,  was  last  seen  going  up  a 
mountain,  to  come  nearer  to  his  deity.  It  is 
thought  that  he  was  absorbed  into  the  Sun. 
Henceforth  he  was  not  seen  among  men. 


THE  RUSSIAN  PROPHET.  209 

Mr.  Emerson's  high  principle  in  dealing  with 
these  people  appears  in  this  passage :  "I  will  as 
sume  that  a  stranger  is  judicious  and  benevolent. 
If  he  is,  I  will  thereby  keep  him  so.  If  he  is  not, 
it  will  tend  to  instruct  him." 

But  he  established  certain  iron  rules  for  the 
management  of  the  pilgrims.  No  railing  or  wilful 
rudeness  or  uncleanness  would  he  permit.  In  the 
autumn  of  1871,  some  years  after  the  arrival  of 
the  more  wild  and  uncouth  Reformers  had  ceased, 
a  man  short,  thick,  hairy,  dirty  and  wild-eyed  came 
to  our  door  and  asked  to  see  Mr.  Emerson.  I 
showed  him  into  the  parlor  and  went  to  call  my 
father,  and  returned  with  him,  the  guest  had  so 
wild  a  look.  It  appeared  that  he  came  from  Rus 
sia,  and  very  possibly  the  distance  he  had  had  to 
travel  may  have  accounted  for  his  very  late  arrival. 
He  stood  with  his  hat  on :  I  knew  that  that  hat 
would  have  to  come  off  before  spiritual  communi 
cation  could  be  opened,  but  wondered  how  it  could 
be  got  off,  as  the  man  looked  determined.  My 
father  saluted  him,  asked  him  to  be  seated  and 
offered  to  take  his  hat.  He  declined  and  began  to 
explain  his  mission.  My  father  again  asked  him 
to  take  his  hat  off,  which  proposition  he  ignored 
and  began  again  to  explain  his  advanced  views. 
Again  the  host  said,  "  Yes,  but  let  me  take  your 
hat,  sir."  The  Russian  snorted  some  impatient 
remark  about  attending  to  such  trifles,  and  began 


210  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

again,  but  my  father  firmly,  yet  with  perfect  sweet 
ness,  said,  "  Very  well  then,  we  will  talk  in  the 
yard,"  showed  the  guest  out,  and  walked  to  and  fro 
with  him  under  the  apple-trees,  patiently  hearing 
him  for  "a  few  minutes ;  but  the  man,  who  was  a 
fanatic,  if  not  insane,  and  specially  desired  that  a 
hall  be  secured  for  him,  free  of  charge,  to  address 
the  people,  soon  departed,  shaking  off  the  dust  of 
his  feet  against  a  man  so  bound  up  in  slavish  cus 
toms  of  society  as  Mr.  Emerson. 

What  he  says  of  Osman  —  the  name  that  seems 
in  his  journals  to  stand  for  the  Ideal  Man,  —  by  no 
means  himself,  but  exposed  to  the  same  vicissitudes 
and  acting  wisely  in  all  —  might  well  describe  his 
own  history,  so  well  did  he  live  up  to  his  thought.1 

1841. 

Journal.  "  Let  it  be  set  down  to  the  praise  of 
Osman  that  he  had  a  humanity  so  broad  and  deep 
that,  though  his  nature  was  so  subtly  fine  as  to 
disgust  all  men  with  his  refinements  and  spider- 
spinnings,  yet  there  was  never  a  poor  outcast,  ec 
centric  or  insane  man,  some  fool  with  a  beard,  or 
a  mutilation,  or  pet  madness  in  his  brain,  but  fled 
at  once  to  him  —  that  great  heart  lay  there  so 

1  In  the  journal  of  1841,  under  the  name  of  Osman,  this  pas 
sage  occurs  :  "  Seemed  to  me  that  I  had  the  keeping  of  a  secret 
too  great  to  be  confided  to  one  man  ;  that  a  divine  man  dwelt 
near  me  in  a  hollow  tree." 


"IMPUTED  RIGHTEOUSNESS.11  211 

sunny  and  hospitable  in  the  centre  of  the  country. 
And  the  madness  which  he  harbored  he  did  not 
share.  Is  not  this  to  be  rich,  —  this  only  to  be 
rightly  rich?" 

I  have  heard  him  accused  of  having  seen  almost 
divinities  in  the  young  protestants  of  that  day  — 
Sons  of  the  Morning  whose  early  ideal  too  soon 
faded.  But  if  before  noonday  the  cry  went  up,  as 
in  too  many  cases  "  Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning, 
how  art  thou  fallen ! '  his  faith  in  them  was  one 
hope  the  more  left  to  them,  and  he  did  not  lose 
sight  of  them  when  few  friends  remained. 

1861. 

Journal.  "I  so  readily  imputed  symmetry  to 
my  fine  geniuses  in  perceiving  their  excellence  in 

some  insight.     How  could  I  doubt  that ,  that 

,  or  that ,  as  I  successively  met  them,  was 

the  master  mind  which  in  some  act  he  appeared  ? 
No,  he  was  only  master  mind  in  that  particular  act. 
He  could  repeat  the  like  stroke  a  million  times,  but 
in  new  conditions  he  was  inexpert  and  in  new  com 
pany  he  was  dumb.  .  .  .  The  revolving  light  re 
sembles  the  man  who  oscillates  from  insignificance 
to  glory,  —  and  every  day  and  all  life  long.  So 
does  the  waxing  and  waning  moon." 

His  earliest  friend,  Dr.  Furness,  said  of  Emer 
son  :  "  If  there  was  one  thing  more  characteristic 


212  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

of  him  than  anything  else,  it  was  the  eagerness 
and  delight  with  which  he  magnified  the  slight 
est  appearance  of  anything  like  talent  or  genius  or 
good  that  he  happened  to  discover,  or  that  he  fan 
cied  he  discovered  in  another." 

As  for  himself,  his  awkwardness,  the  supposed 
lack  of  sympathetic  qualities,  the  inability  to  dis 
cuss  and  defend  his  statements  among  worlds-peo 
ple,  this  "  doom  of  solitude  "  and  safety  in  it  which 
he  felt,  that  made  him  call  himself  jestingly  a 
"  kill-joy  "  in  a  house,  and  feel  that  it  was  an  im 
position  on  his  host  for  him  to  make  a  visit  more 
than  a  day  long  —  all  these  limitations  it  is  certain 
that  he  greatly  magnified. 

Though  loving  children,  and  with  exceedingly 
ready  sympathy  for  any  visible  hurt  or  wound, 
considerate  to  animals,  and  always 

"  Kindly  man  moving  among  his  kind  " 

in  village  or  travel  or  his  own  house,  he  was  hos 
pitable  to  the  ideal  selves  of  people,  but  utterly 
unsympathetic  to  their  littlenesses  and  complaints, 
on  principle,  as  he  wished  others  to  be  to  him.  For 
sickness  he  had  great  horror  because  of  its  too  fre 
quent  debasing  effect  on  the  mind.  He  said  :  "  It 
is  so  vicious.  'T  is  a  screen  for  every  fault  to  hide 
in  ;  idleness,  luxury,  meanness,  wrath  and  the  most 
unmitigated  selfishness."  He  was  by  no  means 
without  long  and  trying  experience  of  illness  him- 


CONCENTRATION  IN  WRITING.  213 

self  in  his  early  youth.  It  does  not  do  to  judge  by 
his  written  words  of  his  action  in  this  matter.  He 
was  far  from  being  cruel  or  even  unsympathetic  in 
real  cases,  or  those  which  he  could  understand, 
though  his  healthy  temperament  was  utterly  una- 
dapted  to  deal  with  anything  morbid. 

To  judge  of  Mr.  Emerson  the  writer,  or  to  com 
pare  him  with  others,  is  no  part  of  my  plan.  But 
those  who  care  for  his  results  may  be  interested  in 
the  evidence  which  I  can  bring  of  his  method  and 
theory  of  work.  He  asked,  "  Can  you  sail  a  ship 
through  the  Narrows  by  minding  the  helm  when 
you  happen  to  think  of  it  ...  or  accomplish  any 
thing  good  or  powerful  in  this  manner  ?  That  you 
think  [the  scholar]  can  write  at  odd  minutes  only 
shows  what  your  knowledge  of  writing  is."  He 
said  that  if  the  scholar  feels  reproach  when  he 
reads  the  tale  of  the  extreme  toil  and  endurance  of 
the  Arctic  explorer,  he  is  not  working  as  he  should, 
and  he  himself  through  all  his  life  worked  with 
constancy  and  concentration. 

1851. 

Journal.  "  To  every  reproach  I  know  but  one 
answer,  namely,  to  go  again  to  my  own  work.  '  But 
you  neglect  your  relations.'  Yes,  too  true  ;  then  I 
will  work  the  harder.  '  But  you  have  no  genius.' 
Yes,  then  I  will  work  the  harder.  '  But  you  have 
no  virtues.'  Yes,  then  I  will  work  the  harder. 


214  EMERSON  JN  CONCORD. 

'  But  you  have  detached  yourself  and  acquired  the 
aversation  of  all  decent  people :  you  must  regain 
some  position  and  relation.'  Yes,  I  will  work  the 
harder." 

But  let  no  one  suppose  that  he  taught  that  mere 
activity  and  will  can  write  the  essay  or  poem : 
these  only  loosened  the  soil,  as  it  were,  put  the 
mind  in  a  receptive  condition,  and  opened  the  in 
ward  ear  to  the  great  voices  that 

"  talk  in  the  breath  of  the  wood, 
They  talk  in  the  shaken  pine, 
And  fill  the  long  reach  of  the  old  sea-shore 
With  dialogue  divine." 

But  what  he  "  overheard,"  as  he  liked  to  say,  must 
be  written  down  and  interpreted  in  the  seclusion 
of  his  study.  There  he  worked  alone,  writing,  or 
reading  with  reference  to  his  writing,  usually  six 
hours  or  more  by  day  and  two  or  three  in  the  even 
ing  ;  and  his  recreations,  his  walks  to  the  woods  or 
his  visit  to  the  city  and  conversations  with  others, 
whether  scholar,  farmer,  or  merchant,  were  all  sifted 
and  winnowed  on  his  return  to  his  study  for  obser 
vations  and  thoughts :  — 

"  For  thought,  and  not  praise, 
Thought  is  the  wages 
For  which  I  sell  days, 
Will  gladly  sell  ages 
And  willing  grow  old, 
Deaf  and  dumb  and  blind  and  cold, 


VALUE  OF  ACTION.  215 

Melting  matter  into  dreams, 
Panoramas  which  I  saw 
And  whatever  glows  or  seems 
Into  substance,  into  Law." 

As,  to  receive  a  polish,  the  iron  must  be  of  good 
quality,  so  the  scholar  and  poet  must  first  be  a 
man,  know  the  ordinary  lot  and  the  daily  chances 
of  the  race,  but  then  read  the  meaning,  not  the 
surface  appearances. 

Journal.  "  I  do  not  see  how  any  man  can  af 
ford,  for  the  sake  of  his  nerves  and  his  nap,  to 
spare  any  action  in  which  he  can  partake.  It  is 
pearls  and  rubies  to  his  discourse.  The  true 
scholar  grudges  every  opportunity  of  action  passed 
by  as  a  loss  of  power." 

His  Concord  life  was  no  hermit's  life,  and  though 
by  force  of  character  and  constancy  of  effort  and 
bravely  saying  No  to  many  impertinent  claims  on 
his  time,  he  guarded  the  time  to  do  his  work,  yet 
labors  and  company  found  him  out.  In  a  letter  to 
his  brother  William  he  says :  — 

"CONCORD,  February  12,  1838. 
"  Now  that  the  Boston  lectures  are  over,  comes 
a  harvest  of  small  works  to  be  done  which  were 
adjourned  to  this  day.  '  Rest  is  nowhere  for  the 
son  of  Adam,'  not  even  in  Concord.  The  suds 
toss  furiously  in  the  wash-bowl.  .  .  .  [He  tells  of 


216  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

an  article  for  the  '  North  American  Review,'  to  be 
prepared,  reviews  of  Carlyle's  books  to  be  written, 
and  his  friend's  last  work  (the  '  Miscellanies ')  now 
going  to  the  press  in  this  country,  and  that  his  own 
Oration  at  Concord  in  1835  is  to  be  revised  for  a 
new  edition  ;  and  continues]  :  And  now  I  have  to 
flee  to  Roxbury  on  a  sudden  call  to  pour  out  these 
decanters  and  demijohns  of  popular  wisdom." 

This  letter  gives  a  just  picture  of  the  distractions 
of  those  days,  so  numerous  and  constant  that  they 
would  have  undone  him  as  a  writer  if  he  had  had 
less  power  of  will. 

Of  reading  as  a  stimulus  to  writing  (though  far 
inferior  to  direct  influences  of  men  and  nature, 
so  that  he  always  warned  the  scholar  against  too 
great  subserviency,  or  awe  for  the  reputation  of 
any  writer)  he  made  use,  but  only  when  the 
richer  sources  were  less  accessible.  But  the  book 
ish  instinct  of  his  race  was  strong,  and  even  while 
speaking  slightingly  of  reading  he  breaks  off  and 


(Journal,  1867.)  ..."  And  yet  —  and  yet  —  I 
hesitate  to  denounce  reading  as  aught  inferior  or 
mean.  When  the  visions  of  my  books  come  over 
me  as  I  sit  writing,  when  the  remembrance  of  some 
poet  comes,  I  accept  it  with  pure  joy  and  quit  my 
thinking  as  sad  lumbering  work,  and  hasten  to  my 
little  heaven  if  it  is  then  accessible,  as  angels  might. 


VALUE  OF  SOLITUDE.  217 

For  these  social  affections  also  are  part  of  Nature 
and  being,  and  the  delight  in  another's  superiority 
is,  as  Aunt  Mary  said  [of  herself],  my  best  gift 
from  God ;  for  here  the  moral  nature  is  involved, 
which  is  higher  than  the  intellectual." 

Society  or  Solitude  ?  These  were  ever  balancing 
their  claims  to  his  gratitude  for  service  done  him. 
Writing  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Samuel  G.  Ward,  just 
before  his  second  visit  to  Europe,  he  says  :  — 

"March  25, 1847. 

"  I  am  invited  on  some  terms,  not  yet  distinct 
and  attractive  enough,  to  England  to  lecture  .  .  . 
and  Carlyle  promises  audiences  in  London,  but 
though  I  often  ask  where  shall  I  get  the  whip  for 
my  top,  I  do  not  yet  take  either  of  these.  [He  had 
also  spoken  of  invitations  from  Theodore  Parker 
to  take  editorship  of  new  Quarterly  journal.]  The 
top  believes  it  can  fly  like  the  wheel  of  the  Sisters 
with  a  poise  like  a  planet  and  a  hum  like  the  sphe 
ral  music,  yet  it  refuses  to  spin.  I  have  read  in 
The  Cosmogenist  that  every  atom  has  a  spiral 
tendency,  an  effort  to  spin.  I  think  over  all  shops 
of  power  where  we  might  borrow  that  desiderated 
push,  but  none  entirely  suits  me.  The  excursion 
to  England  and  farther  draws  me  sometimes,  but 
the  kind  of  travel-prize,  the  most  liberal,  that  made 
it  a  liberty  and  a  duty  to  go,  is  n't  to  be  found  in 


218  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

hospitable  invitations,  and  if  I  should  really  do  as 
I  liked,  I  should  probably  turn  towards  Canada, 
into  loneliest  retreats,  far  from  cities  and  friends 
who  do  not  yield  me  what  they  would  yield  to  any 
other  companion.  And  I  believe  that  literary 
power  would  be  consulted  by  that  course  and  not 
by  public  roads." 

The  reader  who  could  better  spare  the  English 
Traits  than  the  Wood-notes  or  May-day  will  per 
haps  agree  with  him. 

He  had  undertaken  the  task  of  speaking  each 
year  in  the  towns  and  villages  throughout  the 
growing  country,  to  give  the  people  high  thoughts  to 
help  them  amidst  the  turmoil,  at  a  time  when 
political  speeches  or  humorous  discourses  or  lec 
tures  on  Temperance  or  Popular  Science  were  ex 
pected. 

Journal.  "  In  my  dream  I  saw  a  man  reading 
in  the  library  at  Cambridge,  and  one  who  stood  by 
said  '  He  readeth  advertisements,'  meaning  that  he 
read  for  the  market  only,  and  not  for  truth.  Then 
I  said,  —  Do  I  read  advertisements  ?  " 

Almost  all  his  essays,  though  modified  before 
being  printed,  were  first  delivered  as  lectures,  and 
he  soon  felt  the  need  of  guarding  himself  against 
any  harmful  effect  of  this  circumstance. 

"  'T  is  very  costly,  this  thinking  for  the  market 
in  books  or  lectures.  Only  what  is  private  and 


RULES  IN  WRITING.  219 

yours  and  essential  should  ever  be  printed  or  spo 
ken.  I  will  buy  the  suppressed  part  of  the  author's 
mind :  you  are  welcome  to  all  he  published." 

And  yet  when  the  stout  "Western  farmer,  after 
ten  minutes'  trial,  got  up  and  walked  out  of  the 
lecture  room,  the  circumstance  always  set  the  lec 
turer  thinking  not  what  was  lacking  in  the  farmer, 
but  why  he  had  failed  to  find  the  ear  and  heart  of 
his  brother. 

But  the  lectures  brought  compensation  in  vari 
ous  forms  :  — 

1846. 

Journal.  "What  a  discovery  I  made  one  day 
that  the  more  I  spent,  the  more  I  grew ;  that  it 
was  as  easy  to  occupy  a  large  place  and  do  much 
work  as  a  small  place  and  do  little ;  and  that  in 
the  winter  in  which  I  communicated  all  my  results 
to  classes  I  was  full  of  new  thoughts." 

When  the  lectures  were  recast  into  essays,  the 
final  revision  was  severe ;  he  cut  out  and  condensed 
heroically.  He  wished  every  word  to  tell,  and 
liked  to  strengthen  his  sentence  by  omitting  ad 
jectives  and  superlatives.  "Your  work  gains  for 
every  '  very '  you  can  cancel."  "  Don't  italicise ; 
you  should  so  write  that  the  italics  show  without 
being  there."  "  Beware  of  the  words  '  intense '  and 
'  exquisite ' :  to  very  few  people  would  the  occasion 
for  the  word  « intense '  come  in  a  lifetime."  "  Use 


220  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

the  strong  Saxon  word  instead  of  the  pedantic 
latinized  one  ; "  —  such  were  his  counsels  to  young 
writers. 1 

May,  1839. 

Journal.  "  Our  aim  in  our  writings  ought  to  be 
to  make  daylight  shine  through  them.  There  is 
wide  difference  between  compression  and  an  ellip 
tical  style.  The  dense  writer  has  yet  ample  room 
and  choice  of  phrase  and  even  a  gamesome  mood 
often  between  his  noble  words.  There  is  no  disa 
greeable  contraction  in  his  sentence  any  more  than 
there  is  in  a  human  face,  where  in  a  square  space 
of  a  few  inches  is  found  room  for  command  and 
love  and  frolic  and  wisdom,  and  for  the  expression 
even  of  great  amplitude  of  surface." 

In  his  letter  to  Rev.  William  H.  Channing  writ 
ten  in  November,  1851,  discussing  the  question 
where  to  introduce  some  contributions  from  out 
siders  to  their  joint  work  (with  Rev.  James  Free 
man  Clarke)  on  Margaret  Fuller,  he  says :  — 

..."  Only  I  hate  to  hear  of  swelling  the  book, 
and  I  think  not  Mazzini  himself,  not  Cranch,  not 
Browning  hardly,  would  induce  me  to  add  a  line 
of  Appendix.  Amputate,  amputate.  And  why  a 
preface?  If  eight  pages  are  there,  let  them  be 

1  "  In  a  letter,"  he  would  say,  "  any  expressions  may  be  abbre 
viated  rather  than  those  of  respect  and  kindness :  never  write 
*  yours  aff'ly. '" 


EARLY  VERSES.  221 

gloriously  blank:  No,  no  preface.  ...  I   do  not 
mean  to  write  a  needless  syllable." 

As  his  productive  power  failed  and  Ms  journals, 
the  store-houses  whence  he  drew  his  material,  in 
creased  in  number,  his  task  became  more  perplex 
ing. 

1864. 

Journal.  "  I  have  heard  that  the  engineers  on 
the  locomotives  grow  nervously  vigilant  with  every 
year  on  the  road  until  the  employment  is  intolera 
ble  to  them  ;  and  I  think  writing  is  more  and  more 
a  terror  to  old  scribes." 

The  history  of  Mr.  Emerson's  progress  in  the 
poetic  art  may  interest  his  friends  and  readers,  and 
as  in  the  many  notices  of  him  as  a  poet  I  have  no 
where  seen  it  traced,  I  venture  to  bring  forward 
my  contribution. 

There  seem  to  me  to  have  been  three  epochs 
which  I  will  call  the  youthful  or  imitative,  the 
revolutionary,  and  the  mature  stages.  From  his 
early  boyhood  he  delighted  in  the  poets,  but  Apollo 
with  the  charms  of  rhythm  and  sonorous  rhetorical 
passages  first  took  his  school-boy  ear.  Pope  and 
Campbell  seem  to  have  been  the  early  models.  It 
is  curious  to  observe,  in  view  of  the  occasional 
defective  ear  for  prosody  which  Mr.  Emerson 
showed  and  carelessness  of  exact  rhyme,  that  the 
early  rhyming  verses  usually  scan  perfectly  and 


222  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

rhyme  satisfactorily,  though  the  blank  verse  more 
often  halts.  There  is  seldom  a  bold  and  original 
stroke  at  this  time.  His  mind  was  of  the  order 
that  awaken  late.  The  personified  virtues  and 
vices  and  attributes  of  man  do  obvious  things  in 
these  rather  grandiloquent  verses.  The  Class  Poem, 
though  simpler  than  others  of  this  period,  was  of 
this  sort.  Sonorousness  and  an  ambitious  move 
ment  characterized  this  epoch.  Here  is  an  exam 
ple  of  verses  written  at  the  age  of  seventeen  :  — 

"  When  bounding  Fancy  leaves  the  clods  of  Earth 
To  riot  in  the  regions  of  her  birth  ; 
When,  robed  in  light,  the  genii  of  the  stars 
Launch  in  refulgent  space  their  diamond  cars  ; 
Or  in  pavilions  of  celestial  pride 
Serene  above  all  influence  beside 
Vent  the  bold  joy  which  swells  the  glorious  soul 
Rich  with  the  rapture  of  secure  control ; 
Onward,  around,  their  golden  visions  sway 
Till  only  glory  can  obscure  the  day,"  etc. 

This  flight  must  have  been  one  of  the  happy 
occasions  which  the  youth,  eager  to  ride  Pegasus, 
referred  to  in  the  opening  lines  of  a  long  poem  :  — 

"  Oh,  there  are  times  when  the  celestial  Muse 
Will  bless  the  dull  with  inspiration's  hues." 

There  is  however  an  indication  of  having  risen 
beyond  the  imitative  period,  and  of  the  approach 
of  Emerson's  emancipation  from  tradition  and  new 
departure  in  thought  in  the  following  lines,  though 
clothed  in  a  most  sophomorical  complacency  :  — 


PHI  BETA  KAPPA  POEM.  223 

"  When  Fortune  decks  old  Learning's  naked  shrine 
And  bids  his  cobwebbed  libraries  be  fine, 
Young  Merit  smooths  his  aspect  to  a  smile 
And  fated  Genius  deigns  to  live  a  while." 

His  poem  delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society  at  Cambridge  in  1834  shows  a  marked  gain 
in  originality,  simplicity  and  vigor  of  language,  and 
the  Muse  and  the  personified  qualities  and  ideas, 
Hope,  Memory,  Passion  and  innumerable  others,  al 
most  invariably  present  in  force  in  the  early  work, 
are  happily  kept  in  the  background.  Still,  the  ad 
vance  since  the  Class  Poem  of  1821  was  not  very 
great,  and  the  tribute  to  Lafayette,  who  had  just 
died,  and  the  lines  to  Webster  (printed  in  the  Ap 
pendix  of  the  posthumous  edition  of  his  poems)  are 
the  only  passages  of  interest.  The  discouragements 
and  bodily  ailments  in  the  years  in  which  he  stud 
ied  for  the  ministry,  the  sickness  of  Ellen  Tucker, 
her  death,  his  own  parting  with  his  parish,  and 
broken  health  and  uncertain  future  were  reflected 
in  the  verses  written  between  1827  and  1834. 
They  are  sad  and  introspective,  although  there  are 
here  and  there  gleams  of  happiness  and  beauty,  as 
in  the  verses  to  Ellen,  and  some  others  in  which 
his  growing  desire  finds  voice  to  become  possessed 
of  the  power  which  he  felt  that  the  poet,  of  all 
other  men,  had  in  fullest  measure,  to  reach  the 
hearts  of  the  human  race.  In  these  last  there  is 
no  trace  of  the  eighteenth  century  poets,  nor  even 


224  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

of  Milton  and  "Wordsworth,  who  had  influenced 
the  verses  of  the  years  just  preceding.  He  is  com 
ing  to  his  own  strength,  and  here  and  there  are 
daring  and  fortunate  flights,  yet  not  sustained.  It 
is  strange  to  see  him  return  to  safe  and  monotonous 
heroics  in  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem,  when  some 
scraps  of  verse  (the  beginnings  of  "  The  Poet ") 
written  before  this  time,  showed  freedom  and  power. 
He  himself  at  the  time  spoke  slightingly  of  this 
performance  (the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem),  but 
probably  he  felt  that  his  new  wings  were  not  yet 
strong  enough  for  a  long  flight. 

But  that  year  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  era 
with  him.  He  had  returned  from  exile  with 
healthy  body  and  mind,  he  had  gone  to  Nature  for 
inspiration  and  forever  turned  his  back  on  all  that 
was  morbid.  The  self -dissection  so  common  among 
aspirants  in  poetry  he  abhorred  henceforth.  He 
was  now  fully  awakened  and  charged  with  life. 
A  man  must  not  live  with  his  eyes  glued  to  his 
navel.  "  Show  me  thy  face,  dear  Nature,"  he  cried, 
"  that  I  may  forget  my  own." 

In  the  next  ten  years  the  greatest  portion  of  his 
life's  work  was  done,  but  though  he  felt  that  the 
poet  was  born  in  him,  and  by  day  and  night  yearned 
thus  to  give  his  message  in  this,  the  abiding  form, 
he  knew  that  the  expression  halted,  and  his  first 
volume  of  poetry,  by  no  means  satisfactory  to  him, 
did  not  appear  until  1847. 


THE  POET.  225 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet, 
Impatient  friend,  — 
A  little  while  attend  ; 
Not  yet  I  sing  ;  but  I  must  wait 
My  hand  upon  the  silent  string 
Fully  until  the  end. 
I  see  the  coming  light, 
I  see  the  scattered  gleams, 
Aloft,  beneath,  on  left  and  right 
The  stars'  own  ether  beams  ; 
These  are  but  seeds  of  days, 
Not  yet  a  steadfast  morn, 
An  intermittent  blaze, 
An  embryo  god  unborn. 
How  all  things  sparkle, 
The  dust  is  alive, 
To  the  birth  they  arrive  : 
I  snuff  the  breath  of  my  morning  afar, 
I  see  the  pale  lustres  condense  to  a  star  ; 
The  fading  colors  fix, 
The  vanishing  are  seen, 
And  the  world  that  shall  be 
Twins  the  world  that  has  been. 
I  know  the  appointed  hour, 
I  greet  my  office  well, 
Never  faster,  never  slower 
Revolves  the  fatal  wheel  I 
The  Fairest  enchants  me, 
The  Mighty  commands  me, 
Saying,  «  Stand  in  thy  place  ; 
Up  and  eastward  turn  thy  face  ; 
As  mountains  for  the  morning  wait, 
Coming  early,  coming  late, 
So  thou  attend  the  enriching  Fate 


226  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Which  none  can  stay,  and  none  accelerate.' 
I  am  neither  faint  nor  weary 
Fill  thy  will,  O  faultless  heart  I 
Here  from  youth  to  age  I  tarry,  — 
Count  it  flight  of  bird  or  dart. 
My  heart  at  the  heart  of  things 
Heeds  no  longer  lapse  of  time, 
Rushing  ages  moult  their  wings 
Bathing  in  thy  day  sublime." 

Much  of  his  inner  life  appears  in  the  history  of 
this  ideal  poet,  his  inspirations,  obstructions,  his 
strivings  and  experiences  in  his  pursuit  of  the 
Goddess.  If  only  for  this  reason  his  fragments  on 
the  Poet  and  the  Poetic  Gift,  begun  under  the  title 
of  The  Discontented  Poet,  a  Masque,  soon  after 
1830,  and  added  to  through  his  whole  life-time, 
but  never  brought  into  form,  —  it  seemed  wrong 
to  withhold,  and  with  Mr.  Cabot's  sanction  they 
were  introduced  into  the  Appendix  of  the  edition 
of  my  father's  poems  published  since  his  death. 
He  usually  calls  the  poet  Seyd  or  Saadi,  and  he, 
like  Osman  in  the  journals,  is  now  the  ideal,  now 
the  actual  self. 

During  the  years  when  in  his  addresses  to  the 
rising  generation,  Nature,  the  American  Scholar, 
The  Divinity  School  Address,  he  was  urging  them 
not  to  tie  their  fresh  lives  to  a  dead  past,  but  to 
trust  themselves,  or  rather,  the  universal  virtue 
and  power  which  would  well  up  in  due  measure  in 
each  soul  that  dared  trust  its  aspirations,  —  most 


BREAKING  THE  BONDS.  227 

of  the  poems  included  in  his  first  volume  were 
written.  The  tide  of  reaction  against  the  aca 
demic,  perhaps  even  the  classic,  was  setting  in 
strongly.  The  poetry  of  the  day  should  be  free  as 
the  singing  of  a  bird.  The  song  of  the  redwing 
rings  out  from  the  willows  and  gladdens  the  chilly 
April  day,  but  what  would  it  be  if  it  strove  to 
repeat  the  note  of  the  European  skylark  ? 

But  the  tide  of  protest  of  those  days,  the  so- 
called  transcendental  period,  ran  strong  and  some 
times  carried  Mr.  Emerson  into  fantastic  and  start 
ling  imagery  and  rude  expression.  It  is  almost 
incredible  that  his  ear  and  taste  should  have  toler 
ated  for  an  instant  some  lines  in  the  Sphinx  as  it 
was  first  published  in  the  Dial.  He  believed  with 
Burke  that  "  much  must  be  pardoned  to  the  spirit 
of  Liberty,"  and  he  was  very  tender  of  the  unreg 
ulated  poetical  flights  of  the  young  emancipated 
of  those  days,  although  these  afforded  an  unhal 
lowed  delight  to  the  conservative  spirits  who  made 
successful  and  amusing  imitations  of  the  Transcen- 
dentalist  poetry. 

June  27,  1839. 

Journal.  "  Rhyme ;  not  tinkling  rhyme,  but 
grand  Pindaric  strokes  as  firm  as  the  tread  of  a 
horse.  Rhyme  that  vindicates  itself  as  an  art,  the 
stroke  of  the  bell  of  a  cathedral.  Rhyme  which 
knocks  at  prose  and  dulness  with  the  stroke  of  a 
cannon-ball.  Rhyme  which  builds  out  into  Chaos 


228  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

and  old  Night  a  splendid  architecture  to  bridge  the 
impassable  and  call  aloud  on  all  the  children  of 
morning  that  the  Creation  is  recommencing.  I 
wish  to  write  such  rhymes  as  shall  not  suggest  a 
restraint,  but  contrariwise  the  wildest  freedom." 

Then  he  had  come  to  the  conclusive  belief  that 
when  the  spirit  moved,  the  thought  came,  the  bard 
must  sing ;  while  he  was  at  white  heat  the  expres 
sion  would  take  care  of  itself ;  that  the  impulse, 
the  intoxication,  if  you  will,  must  be  trusted  to  find 
itself  words,  and  that  the  force  would  be  lost  by 
elaboration ;  that  power  was  almost  surely  sacri 
ficed  by  too  careful  attempts  at  finish.1  Of  course 
then  the  chances  in  the  lottery  of  making  a  good 
poem  were  made  far  smaller  if  expression  both 
strong  and  musical  must  come  with  the  first  voicing 
of  the  thought  or  never.  Both  the  good  and  the 
evil  of  this  theory  show  in  the  poems  of  the  first 
edition  of  his  first  volume,  best  of  all  in  the  poems 
printed  in  the  Dial,  for  much  could  not  stand  his 

1  When  LEAVES  OF  GRASS  appeared,  at  a  later  period  than 
that  of  which  I  speak,  the  healthy  vigor  and  freedom  of  this 
work  of  a  young-  mechanic  seemed  to  promise  so  much  that  Mr. 
Emerson  overlooked  the  occasional  coarseness  which  offended 
him,  and  wrote  a  letter  of  commendation  to  the  author,  a  sen 
tence  of  which  was,  to  his  annoyance,  printed  in  gold  letters  on 
the  covers  of  the  next  edition.  But  the  first  work  led  him  to 
expect  better  in  future,  and  in  this  he  was  disappointed.  He 
used  to  say,  This  *  Catalogue-style  of  poetry  is  easy  and  leads 
nowhere,'  or  words  to  that  effect. 


THE  OLD  BARDS.  229 

own  or  his  friends'  criticism  and  was  struck  out 
or  amended. 

At  this  time  he  came  upon  the  translations  of 
the  old  Bardic  poetry,  the  fragments  attributed 
to  Taliessin,  Llewarch  Hen,  and  even  to  Merlin, 
and  he  tasted  with  joy  the  inspiring  wild  flavor 
after  the  insipid  or  artificial  fruit  of  England  in 
the  last  century.  He  was  reading  too  the  rude 
chantings  of  the  Norse  Scalds  and  the  improvisa 
tions  of  the  Trouveurs. 

Fortunately  he  had  no  affectation  of  ruggedness. 
What  there  was  was  sincere,  like  all  his  life,  and 
in  the  direction  of  simplicity.  A  wilfully  involved 
style,  like  Browning's  later  work,  was  odious  to 
him.  Even  Brahma  and  Uriel,  which  are  noted 
stumbling-blocks  to  those  who  come  on  them  be 
fore  they  are  familiar  with  Mr.  Emerson's  leading 
thoughts,  which  they  embody  (Compensation  and 
Good  out  of  Evil  in  the  one,  and  the  Universal 
Mind  coming  to  consciousness  now  in  this  human 
vessel,  now  in  that,  in  the  other  poem),  are  short, 
perfectly  simple  in  construction  and  as  Saxon  in 
style  as  even  Byron's  best  work.  What  Moore 
wrote  of  Campbell  (and  Emerson  calls  his  best 
verse)  expressed  his  o\ru  view  of  the  race  of 
poets  : — 

"  True  bard  and  simple,  as  the  race 

Of  Heaven-born  poets  always  are, 
When  leaning  from  their  starry  place 
They  "re  children  near,  but  gods  afar." 


230  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

Yet  the  poet  must  raise  the  people,  not  write 
down  to  them.  "  Sing  he  must  and  should,  but  not 
ballads  ;  sing,  but  for  gods  or  demigods.  He  need 
not  transform  himself  into  Punch  and  Judy." 

First  of  all  he  must  have  something  to  say,  then 
lay  it  out  largely;  a  great  design,  not  a  pretty 
piece  of  upholstery.  Then  it  must  have  the  out 
door  wholesomeness,  sincerity  and  cheer  about  it, 
for  is  not  the  poet  "permitted  to  dip  his  brush 
into  the  old  paint-pot  with  which  birds,  flowers,  the 
human  cheek,  the  living  rock,  the  broad  landscape, 
the  ocean  and  the  eternal  sky  were  painted,"  and 
should  he  paint  affectations  and  nightmares  ?  From 
the  first  riot  of  freedom  and  rough  spontaneity  in 
verse,  after  the  cramping  models  of  his  youth,  there 
would  have  been  almost  necessarily  a  reaction,  even 
had  not  this  new  fashion  run  into  extremes  in  his 
own  and  others'  hands  which  served  the  wholesome 
purpose  of  caricature.  His  own  improving  ear  and 
taste  felt  the  need  of  more  music.  To  be  treasured 
by  mankind  verses  must  not  have  weight  merely, 
but  beauty ;  rough  pebbles  must  not  be  strung 
with  the  gems,  even  if  seized  in  the  same  first 
eager  grasp.  The  gems  can  be  kept  and  laid  by 
until  that  other  lucky  day  when  enough  others  are 
found  to  fill  out  the  necklace. 

"  Substance  is  much,"  he  says ;  "but  so  are  mode 
and  form  much.  The  poet,  like  a  delighted  boy, 
brings  you  heaps  of  rainbow  bubbles,  opaline,  air- 


THE  RIPER  POETRY.  231 

born,  spherical  as  the  world,  instead  of  a  few  drops 
of  soap  and  water." 

Another  influence  now  came  in  on  the  side  of 
grace  and  finish,  the  Oriental  poetry,  in  which  he 
took  very  great  interest,  especially  the  poems  of 
Hafiz,  many  of  which  he  rendered  into  English 
from  the  German  or  French  translations  in  which 
he  found  them. 

The  verses  of  the  late  period  (after  1847)  were 
long  kept  by  him,  and  on  fortunate  days  as  he 
crooned  the  lines  to  himself,  walking  in  Walden 
woods,  the  right  words  sprang  into  place. 

1853. 

Journal.  "  I  amuse  myself  often  as  I  walk  with 
humming  the  rhythm  of  the  decasyllabic  quatrain 
or  of  the  octosyllabic  or  other  rhythms,  and  believe 
these  metres  to  be  organic  or  derived  from  our 
human  pulse,  and  to  be  therefore  not  proper  to  one 
nation,  but  to  mankind.  But  I  find  a  wonderful 
charm,  heroic  and  especially  deeply  pathetic  or 
plaintive  in  the  cadence,  and  say  to  myself,  Ah 
happy !  if  one  could  fill  the  small  measures  with 
words  approaching  to  the  power  of  these  beats. 
Young  people  like  rhyme,  drum-beat,  tune,  things 
in  pairs  and  alternatives,  and  in  higher  degrees  we 
know  the  instant  power  of  music  upon  our  temper 
aments  to  change  our  mood  and  give  us  its  own ; 
and  human  passion,  seizing  these  constitutional 
tunes,  aims  to  fill  them  with  appropriate  words,  or 


232  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

many  music  to  thought,  believing,  as  we  believe  of 
all  marriage,  that  matches  are  made  in  heaven,  and 
that  for  every  thought  its  proper  melody  or  rhyme 
exists,  though  the  odds  are  immense  against  our 
finding  it,  and  only  genius  can  rightly  say  the 
banns." 

Almost  all  the  poems  of  the  later  volume  had 
been  in  years  greatly  changed  and  mellowed  from 
the  song  struggling  for  expression  first  written  in 
the  note-book  on  his  return  from  the  woods,  where 
I  believe  that  nearly  all  his  poems  had  their  birth. 
But  a  woodland  flavor  remained :  "  Pan  is  a  god, 
and  Apollo  is  no  more,"  and  Pan  and  the  sylvan 
deities  were  only  half  emerged  from  shaggy  brute 
forms,  and  even  the  fair  Dryads  and  Oreads  had 
hints  of  rugged  bark  or  rock-lichen  in  their  garb. 

Yet  the  first  thought  mainly  gave  the  form,  for, 
though  in  happy  moments  he  bettered  the  expres 
sion,  he  taught  that  "  verse  was  not  a  vehicle.  The 
verse  must  be  alive  and  inseparable  from  its  con 
tents,  as  the  soul  of  man  inspires  and  directs  the 
body." 

May-Day,  Waldeinsamkeit,  and  especially  My 
Garden  show  the  result  of  this  later,  riper  method. 

The  journal  of  1856  shows  The  Two  Kivers, 
perhaps  the  most  musical  of  his  poems,  as  the 
thought  first  came  to  him  by  the  river-bank  and 
was  then  brought  into  form. 


HISTORY  OF  POEMS.  233 

"  Thy  voice  is  sweet  Musketaquid  and  repeats  the  music  of 
the  rain,  but  sweeter  is  the  silent  stream  which  flows  even 
through  thee,  as  thou  through  the  land. 

"  Thou  art  shut  in  thy  banks,  but  the  stream  I  love  flows  in 
thy  water,  and  flows  through  rocks  and  through  the  air  and 
through  rays  of  light  as  well,  and  through  darkness,  and 
through  men  and  women. 

"  I  hear  and  see  the  inundation  and  the  eternal  spending 
of  the  stream  in  winter  and  in  summer,  in  men  and  animals, 
in  passion  and  thought.  Happy  are  they  who  can  hear  it." 

"  I  see  thy  brimming,  eddying  stream 
And  thy  enchantment, 
For  thou  changest  every  rock  in  thy  bed 
Into  a  gem, 
All  is  opal  and  agate, 
And  at  will  thou  pavest  with  diamonds  : 
Take  them  away  from  the  stream 
And  they  are  poor  shards  and  flints. 
So  is  it  with  me  to-day." 

This  rhapsody  does  not  gain  by  the  attempt  to 
reduce  part  of  it  to  rhyme  which  occurs  later  in 
the  same  journal :  — 

"  Thy  murmuring  voice,  Musketaquit, 

Repeats  the  music  of  the  rain, 
But  sweeter  rivers  silent  flit 

Through  thee  as  thou  through  Concord  plain. 

"  Thou  in  thy  banks  must  dwell, 
But 

The  stream  I  follow  freely  flows 
Through  thee,  through  rocks,  through  air  as  well, 

Through  light,  through  men  it  gayly  goes." 


234  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

At  last  the  thought  found  its  perfect  form  in 

THE  TWO  RIVERS. 

"  Thy  summer  voice,  Musketaquit, 
Repeats  the  music  of  the  rain  ; 
But  sweeter  rivers  pulsing  flit 

Through  thee,  as  thou  through  Concord  plain. 

"  Thou  in  thy  narrow  banks  art  pent ; 
The  stream  I  love  unbounded  goes 
Through  flood  and  sea  and  firmament ; 

Through  light,  through  life,  it  forward  flows. 

"  I  see  the  inundation  sweet, 

I  hear  the  spending  of  the  stream 
Through  years,  through  men,  through  nature  fleet, 
Through  love  and  thought,  through  power  and  dream, 

"  Musketaquit,  a  goblin  strong, 

Of  shard  and  flint  makes  jewels  gay  ; 
They  lose  their  grief  who  hear  his  song, 
And  where  he  winds  is  the  day  of  day. 

"  So  forth  and  brighter  fares  my  stream,  — 

Who  drink  it  shall  not  thirst  again  ; 
No  darkness  stains  its  equal  gleam 
And  ages  drop  in  it  like  rain." 

The  representations  of  the  beauty  of  the  coast 
near  Cape  Ann,  by  his  friend  Doctor  Bartol,  led 
my  father  thither  for  a  week  with  his  family.  The 
day  after  his  return  to  Concord  he  entered  my 
mother's  room,  where  all  of  us  were  sitting,  with 


THE  SEA-SHORE.  235 

his  journal  in  his  hand,  and  said,  "  I  came  in  yes 
terday  from  walking  on  the  rocks,  and  wrote  down 
what  the  sea  had  said  to  me ;  and  to-day  when  I 
open  my  book  I  find  that  it  all  reads  in  blank 
verse,  with  scarcely  a  change.  Listen !  "  and  he 
read  it  to  us.  Here  is  the  passage  from  the  jour 
nal,  which  needed  little  alteration,  part  of  which  he 
made  while  reading,  for  its  final  form  "  The  Sea 
shore  " :  — 

"  July  23.  Eeturned  from  Pigeon  Cove,  where 
we  have  made  acquaintance  with  the  sea,  for  seven 
days.  'T  is  a  noble  friendly  power,  and  seemed  to 
say  to  me,  Why  so  late  and  slow  to  come  to  me  ? 
Am  I  not  here  always,  thy  proper  summer  home  ? 
Is  not  my  voice  thy  needful  music ;  my  breath  thy 
healthful  climate  in  the  heats ;  my  touch  thy  cure  ? 
Was  ever  building  like  my  terraces?  Was  ever 
couch  so  magnificent  as  mine  ?  Lie  down  on  my 
warm  ledges  and  learn  that  a  very  little  hut  is  all 
you  need.  I  have  made  this  architecture  super 
fluous,  and  it  is  paltry  beside  mine.  Here  are 
twenty  Romes  and  Ninevehs  and  Karnacs  in  ruins 
together,  obelisk  and  pyramid  and  Giants'  Cause 
way,  here  they  all  are,  prostrate  or  half -piled. 
And  behold  the  sea,  the  opaline,  plentiful  and 
strong,  yet  beautiful  as  the  rose  or  the  rainbow, 
full  of  food,  nourisher  of  men,  purger  of  the  world, 
creating  a  sweet  climate,  and  in  its  unchangeable 
ebb  and  flow,  and  in  its  beauty  at  a  few  furlongs, 


236  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

giving  a  hint  of  that  which  changes  not,  and  is 
perfect." 

There  is  a  little  poem  in  prose  written  in  the 
journal  of  1855,  which,  as  I  do  not  find  it  else 
where,  I  will  insert  here. 

THE  YEAR. 

"  There  is  no  flower  so  sweet  as  the  four-petalled 
flower  which  science  much  neglects ;  one  grey  petal  it 
has,  one  green,  one  red,  and  one  white." 

"  Days  "  has  been,  by  some  readers,  held  to  be 
the  best  of  my  father's  poems.  There  is  a  remark 
able  entry  about  its  production  in  the  journal  for 
1852:  — 

"  I  find  one  state  of  mind  does  not  remember  or 
conceive  of  another  state.  Thus  I  have  written 
within  a  twelvemonth  verses  (Days)  which  I  do 
not  remember  the  composition  or  correction  of,  and 
could  not  write  the  like  to-day,  and  have  only  for 
proof  of  their  being  mine  various  external  evi 
dences,  as  the  manuscripts  in  which  I  find  them, 
and  the  circumstances  that  I  have  sent  copies  of 
them  to  friends,  etc.  Well,  if  they  had  been  bet 
ter,  if  it  had  been  a  noble  poem,  perhaps  it  would 
have  only  more  entirely  taken  up  the  ladder  into 
heaven." 

Rev.  William  R.  Alger  tells  me  that  meeting 
Mr.  Emerson  in  Boston  streets  soon  after  the 
publication  of  May  Day  he  expressed  to  him  his 


THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  POET.  237 

pleasure  in  the  book,  adding  that  much  as  he 
valued  the  essays  he  cared  more  for  the  poems. 
Mr.  Emerson  answered  laughingly,  "I  beg  you 
always  to  remain  of  that  opinion ; "  then  went  on 
more  seriously  to  say  that  he  himself  liked  his 
poems  best  because  it  was  not  he  who  wrote  them ; 
because  he  could  not  write  them  by  will ;  —  he 
could  say,  "  I  will  write  an  essay."  He  added, 
"  I  can  breathe  at  any  time,  but  I  can  only  whistle 
when  the  right  pucker  comes."  1 

Having  indicated  the  traces  of  his  passage 
through  the  stages  of  his  advance  in  the  art  of 
poetry,  I  shall  venture  to  state  in  as  short  space  as 
I  can  his  feeling  about  the  poet's  place  and  duty 
in  the  world,  or  rather  his  high  privilege.  At 

1  Two  poems  are  often  ascribed  to  Mr.  Emerson  which  he  did 
not  write.  The  first,  called  The  Future  is  Better  than  the 
Past,  appeared  in  the  Dial.  Part  of  this  poem,  beginning 

"  All  before  us  lies  the  way," 

appears  in  several  collections  of  hymns  under  my  father's  name. 
This  was  due  to  a  mistake  by  the  Reverend  Doctor  Frederic 
Hedge,  who  was  one  of  the  Compilers  of  "  Hymns  for  the  Church," 
from  which  it  has  been  copied  into  other  collections.  The  poem 
was  contributed  to  the  Dial,  at  Mr.  Emerson's  request,  by  Miss 
Eliza  T.  Clapp  of  Dorchester. 

The  second  pleasing  poem,  of  which  Mr.  Emerson  has  wrongly 
the  credit,  is  one  called  Midsummer,  beginning 

"  Round  this  lovely  valley  rise  < 

The  purple  hills  of  Paradise." 

It  was  written  by  Mr.  J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


238  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

large  through  his  writings  hints  of  this  creed  are 
found,  but  better  even  than  in  the  long  chapter  on 
Poetry  and  Imagination,  in  the  poems  Saadi,  Mer 
lin  and  the  fragments  on  the  Poet  and  the  Poetic 
Gift  in  the  Appendix  to  the  last  edition  of  his 
poems. 

The  poet  is  finely  sensitive  to  impressions  from 
Nature  and  from  Man.  The  beauty  of  objects  and 
events  is  borne  in  upon  him  from  moment  to  mo 
ment  —  observe,  not  mere  objects,  but  their  won 
derful  histories.  "  Natural  objects  are  not  known 
out  of  their  connection ;  they  are  words  of  a  sen 
tence  :  if  their  true  order  is  found,  the  poet  can 
read  their  divine  significance  as  orderly  as  in  a 
Bible."  He  must  render  this  beauty  into  words  to 
gladden  men  elsewhere  and  at  another  time.  To 
present  vividly  to  their  imaginations  that  which  he 
has  seen,  he  shows  its  likeness  to  some  other  fine 
thing  or  striking  event  which  they  know.  The 
resemblances  which  he  sees,  new  and  unthought  of 
but  by  him,  make  his  hearer  see  what  he  saw. 
These  images  seem  most  fortunate :  "  The  world 
seems  only  a  disguised  man,  so  readily  does  it  lend 
itself  to  tropes."  But  soon  he  sees  that  these 
likenesses  were  far  too  fortunate  to  be  coincidences, 
but  due  to  the  great  fact  that  mind  and  mat 
ter  have  like  history.  "  Detecting  essential  resem 
blances  in  things  never  before  compared,  he  can 
class  them  so  audaciously  because  he  is  sensible  of 


THE  SPIRITUAL  IS  THE  REAL.          239 

the  sweep  of  the  celestial  stream  from  which  noth 
ing  is  exempt." 

"  The  things  whereon  he  cast  his  eyes 
Could  not  the  nations  re-baptize 
Nor  Time's  snows  hide  the  names  he  set 
Nor  last  posterity  forget." 

Nature  symbolizes  the  soul,  for  behind  both  are 
the  great  laws.  Action  and  reaction,  attraction 
and  repulsion,  compensation  and  periodicity,  and 
transformation  and  reappearance  alike  hold  sway 
over  man  and  nature. 

"  The  sun  and  moon  shall  fall  amain 
Like  sower's  seeds  into  his  brain, 
There  quickened  to  be  born  again." 

"  And  the  poet  affirms  the  laws :  prose  busies 
itself  with  exceptions,  with  the  local  and  individ 
ual,"  but  he,  having  taken  the  true  central  point  of 
observation,  sees  that  harmony  and  progress  are 
the  rule,  as  did  Copernicus  when  he  found  that  all 
the  apparent  perturbations  and  retrogressions  of 
the  heavenly  bodies  were  due  to  the  assumption  of 
a  false  centre,  and  that,  as  seen  from  the  sun,  all 
would  be  orderly  and  harmonious.  "  The  senses 
imprison  us.  ...  It  cost  thousands  of  years  to 
make  the  motion  of  the  earth  suspected.  Slowly, 
by  comparing  thousands  of  observations,  there 
dawned  on  some  mind  a  theory  of  the  sun,  —  and 
we  found  the  astronomical  fact,  But  the  astron- 


240  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

omy  is  in  the  mind.  The  senses  affirm  that  the 
earth  stands  still  and  the  sun  moves." 

Thus  the  great  "  poetry  is  the  only  verity ;  is  the 
speech  of  man  after  the  real,  and  not  after  the 
apparent.  The  solid  men  complain  that  the  ideal 
ist  leaves  out  the  fundamental  facts ;  the  poet  com 
plains  that  the  solid  men  leave  out  the  sky ; "  yes 
and  the  system  in  which  grains  of  city  dust  and 
incandescent  sun  are  alike  motes. 

Hence  "  poetry  is  the  consolation  of  mortal  men 
who  have  been  cabined,  cribbed,  confined  in  a 
narrow  and  trivial  lot."  In  it  is 

"  Something  that  gives  our  feeble  light 
A  high  immunity  from  night, 

Something  that  leaps  life's  narrow  bars 
To  claim  its  birthright  with  the  hosts  of  heaven, 
A  seed  of  sunshine  that  doth  leaven 

Our  earthly  dulness  with  the  beams  of  stars, 
And  glorify  our  clay 
With  light  from  fountains  elder  than  the  day." l 

By  reading  the  law  behind  seeming  fact  the 
Poet  cheers  and  points  the  way  when  it  seems  dark, 
as  the  guide  who  takes  his  course  by  the  stars  when 
the  road  winds  and  baffles  him.  Seeing  the  beauty 
and  harmony  of  the  universe  and  that  our  great 
solid  earth  is  but  a  transient  mote  in  it,  our  ideas 
are  freed  and  we  can  look  on  death  more  calmly, 
surmising  that  "  the  noble  house  of  Nature  which 

1  Lowell's  "  Commemoration  Ode." 


THE  POET  CHEERS,   CREATES.  241 

we  inhabit  has  temporary  uses  and  that  we  can 
afford  to  leave  it  one  day,  as  great  conquerors  have 
burned  their  ships  when  once  landed  on  the  wished- 
for  shore."  Even  the  poetry  of  sorrow  has  a  charm 
for  mankind.  Thus  happiness  attends  poetry ; 
happiness  not  merely  of  the  singer,  but  the  hearer ; 
and  because  poetry  gilds  the  days,  in  rhyme  you 
may  say  anything,  even  ideal  truth,  in  the  heart  of 
Philistia. 

At  last  the  poet  comes  through  poetry  to  central 
truth.  For  having  found  under  manifold  matter 
fewer  forces,  and  under  these  a  few  great  laws, 
the  last  step,  uniting  these,  is  to  the  essence,  the 
Truth,  Love,  Beauty  which  thus  expresses  itself,  the 
central  fire  of  Thought  and  Virtue  and  Will  of 
which  his  own  is  but  a  spark. 

And  this  spark  is  not  in  vain,  for  is  not  the 
Poet  too  a  creator,  a  Maker,  as  the  Greek  called 
him  ?  "A  poem  is  a  new  work  of  nature  as  a  man 
is,"  and  accordingly  valued.  "  It  must  be  new  as 
foam  and  old  as  the  rock."  The  poet  takes  "  con 
versation  and  objects  in  nature  and  gives  back,  not 
them  but  a  new  and  transcendent  whole."  Driven 
by  his  thought  he  personifies  it,  and  in  a  crisis 
gives  to  the  men  of  the  street  such  a  presentation 
of  the  Church  or  of  their  Country,  that  these  once 
visionary  abstractions  become  the  realities  that 
make  life  worth  living,  nay,  even  to  be  thrown  as 
dust  into  the  balance  to  save  them :  and  a  soiled 


242  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

and  ragged  bit   of   bunting  may   outweigh  with 
them  a  thousand  bales  of  cotton. 

And  the  true  poet  need  not  go  back  for  pictu 
resque  subjects  to  mythical  or  classic  or  mediaeval 
periods.  He  can  take  the  passing  day  of  the  rush 
ing,  materialistic  nineteenth  century  and  hold  it  up 
to  the  divine  reason  and  show  the  practical  man 
whose  eyes  are  on  gingham  or  the  county  vote  or 
the  stock  market  the  relation  of  these  things  to  the 
far  horizon  that  rings  them  in,  and  to  the  long  "  bal 
ance-beam  of  Fate ; "  —  "  the  dry  twig  blossoms  in 
his  hand."  "  Perhaps  they  may  think  themselves 
logical  and  the  poet  whimsical?  Do  they  think 
there  is  chance  and  wilfulness  in  what  he  sees  and 
tells?  .  .  .  He  knows  that  he  did  not  make  his 
thought.  No,  his  thoughts  made  him  and  made 
the  sun  and  the  stars." 

"Ah,  not  to  me  those  dreams  belong  ; 
A  better  voice  peals  through  my  song." 

A  noble  or  fine  thought,  a  piece  of  the  poet's  real 
experience  given  in  a  happy  image,  is  the  essence 
of  a  poem,  and  not  a  mere  dazzle  of  words  and 
melody,  —  a  gay  upholstery.  The  beautiful  form 
is  secondary,  but  should  be  implied  in  the  beau 
tiful  thought,  for  "  the  act  of  imagination  is  a 
pure  delight  ; "  in  this  intoxication  all  things 
swim,  the  musical  lines  and  words  should  come ; 
for  Nature,  herself  but  the  expression  of  Mind,  by 


RHYTHM  AND   RHYME  IN  NATURE.      243 

her  returns,  of  planets  or  of  seasons,  and  her 
beautiful  echoes  to  ear  and  to  eye  gives  the  hint 
of  rhythm  and  rhyme. 

"  Every  one  may  see,  as  he  rides  on  the  highway 
through  an  uninteresting  landscape,  how  a  little 
water  instantly  relieves  the  monotony :  no  matter 
what  objects  are  near  it,  they  become  beautiful  by 
being  reflected.  It  is  rhyme  to  the  eye  and  ex 
plains  the  charm  of  rhyme  to  the  ear.  Shadows 
please  us  as  still  finer  rhymes." 

So  metre  and  movement,  rhythm  and  rhyme  fitly 
and  necessarily  lend  themselves  to  the  poet  when 
he  celebrates  the  symmetry,  harmony,  the  depar 
tures  and  returns,  the  correspondence  and  recom 
pense,  substance  and  shadow,  life  and  death. 

"  And  through  man  and  woman  and  sea  and  star 
Saw  the  dance  of  Nature  forward  and  far, 
Through  worlds  and  races  and  terms  and  times 
Saw  musical  order  and  pairing  rhymes." 

The  beauty,  the  harmonies  of  the  universe  every 
where  await  the  poet  to  celebrate  them. 

"  Chladne's  experiment  seems  to  me  central.  He 
strewed  sand  on  glass  and  then  struck  the  glass 
with  tuneful  accords,  and  the  sand  assumed  sym 
metrical  figures.  With  discords  the  sand  was 
thrown  about  amorphously.  It  seems,  then,  that 
Orpheus  is  no  fable ;  you  have  only  to  sing  and 
the  rocks  will  crystallize  ;  sing  and  the  plant  will 
organize ;  sing  and  the  animal  will  be  born." 


244  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

But  the  ideal  "  poetry  must  be  affirmative.  Thus 
saith  the  Lord  should  begin  the  song."  "  A  poet 
gives  us  the  eminent  experiences  only,  —  a  god 
stepping  from  peak  to  peak,  nor  planting  his  foot 
but  on  a  mountain." 

He  felt  that  a  better  poetry  was  to  come. 

1851. 

Journal.  "  There  is  something,  —  our  brothers 
over  the  sea  do  not  know  it  or  own  it ;  Scott, 
Southey,  Hallam,  and  Dickens  would  all  deny  and 
blaspheme  it,  —  which  is  setting  them  all  aside, 
and  the  whole  world  also,  and  planting  itself  for 
ever  and  ever." 

The  insight  of  a  poet  was  the  ladder  by  which  he 
climbed  to  the  plane  of  Optimism,  the  constant 
occupation  of  which  by  him  disturbs  some  of  his 
readers.  And  so  his  hope  —  or  trust,  as  he  rather 
called  it,  for  there  was,  he  said,  a  lower  suggestion 
in  the  word  hope  —  which  was  with  him  in  his 
early  days  of  poverty  and  sickness,  grew  until  he 
felt  that  Uriel,  the  Archangel  of  the  Sun,  who 
from  the  centre  of  the  universe  sees  all  motion  and 
tendency,  saw  that  all  things  came  in  turn  to  light 
and  worked  for  good  and  the  great  harmony. 
Even  the  comet  flying  off  apparently  in  a  straight 
line  into  space  would  in  after  ages  return,  as  it 
might  seem  from  infinity,  and  from  another  part  of 
the  heavens. 


GOOD  OUT  OF  EVIL.  245 

"  Line  in  Nature  is  not  found  ; 
Unit  and  universe  are  round  : 
In  vain  produced,  all  rays  return  ; 
Evil  will  bless,  and  ice  will  burn." 

This  poem,  written  soon  after  his  Divinity  School 
address,  might  almost  stand  as  the  history  of  his 
promulgation  of  his  steadfastly  held  belief  of  Good 
out  of  Evil,  the  study  and  illustration  of  which 
gave  joy  to  his  life.  Although  it  can  be  traced  in 
the  greater  part  of  my  father's  utterances  quoted 
in  this  sketch,  I  will  give  a  few  more  in  special 
illustration. 

"  I  see  with  joy  the  Irish  emigrants  landing  at 
Boston,  at  New  York,  and  say  to  myself:  There 
they  go  —  to  school." 

"  Not  Antoninus,  but  a  poor  washerwoman,  said, 
'  The  more  trouble,  the  more  lion.'  r 

"A  man  must  thank  his  defects  and  stand  in 
some  terror  of  his  talents." 

"  Hear  what  the  Morning  says  and  believe  that." 

"  I  cannot  look  without  seeing  splendor  and 
grace.  How  idle  to  choose  a  random  sparkle  here 
and  there,  when  the  indwelling  necessity  plants  the 
rose  of  beauty  on  the  brow  of  Chaos  and  discloses 
the  central  intention  of  Nature  to  be  harmony  and 

joy." 

"  I  find  the  gayest  castles  in  the  air  which  were 
ever  piled  far  better  for  comfort  and  for  use  than 
the  dungeons  in  the  air  that  are  daily  dug  and 


246  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

caverned  out  by  grumbling  and  discontented  peo 
ple." 

"  God  builds  his  temple  in  the  heart  on  the  ruins 
of  churches  and  religions." 

"  Trust  the  time :  what  a  fatal  prodigality  to  con 
demn  our  age ;  we  cannot  overvalue  it.  It  is  our 
all.  As  the  wandering  sea-bird,  which,  crossing 
the  ocean,  alights  on  some  rock  or  isle  to  rest  for  a 
moment  its  wings  and  to  look  back  on  the  wilder 
ness  of  waves  behind  and  onward  to  the  wilderness 
of  waters  before,  —  so  stand  we,  perched  on  this 
rock  or  shoal  of  time  —  arrived  out  of  the  im 
mensity  of  the  past,  bound  and  road-ready  to 
plunge  into  immensity  again.  Not  for  nothing  it 
dawns  out  of  everlasting  Peace,  this  great  discon 
tent,  this  self -accusing  Reflection.  The  very  time 
sees  for  us,  thinks  for  us.  It  is  a  microscope  such 
as  Philosophy  never  had.  Insight  is  for  us  which 
was  never  for  any,  and  doubt  not  the  moment  and 
the  opportunity  are  divine. 

Wondering  we  came  into  this  lodge  of  watch 
men,  this  office  of  espial.  We  wonder  at  the  re 
sult,  but  let  us  not  retreat  astonished  and  ashamed. 
Let  us  go  out  of  the  Hall  door,  and  doubt  never 
that  a  Good  Genius  brought  us  in  and  will  carry 
us  out. 

"  As  I  stand  hovering  over  this  gloom  and  deep 
of  the  Future,  and  consider  earnestly  what  it  fore 
bodes,  I  cannot  dismiss  my  joyful  auguries.  For  1 


RELIGION.  247 

will  not  and  cannot  see  in  it  a  fiction  o*  a  dream. 
It  is  a  reality  arriving.  It  is  to  me  an  oracle  that 
I  cannot  bring  myself  to  undervalue.  It  is  the 
cloud  temple  of  the  Highest." 

My  presentation  of  my  father's  life  in  the  pic 
tures  here  brought  together  of  his  daily  walk  among 
his  own  people  and  the  thoughts  thereby  suggested 
to  him  will  have  been  in  vain  if  the  agreement  of 
his  acts  with  his  words  has  not  everywhere  ap 
peared,  —  the  symmetry  and  harmony  of  his  life. 

Religion  was  not  with  him  something  apart,  a 
separate  attitude  of  the  mind,  or  function,  but  so 
instant  and  urgent  that  it  led  him  out  of  the 
churches,  which  then  seemed  to  him  its  tomb,  into 
the  living  day,  and  he  said,  "  Nature  is  too  thin  a 
screen :  the  glory  of  the  One  breaks  in  every 
where." 

And  so  it  seems  hardly  worth  while  to  pick  out 
from  his  writings  chapters  with  names  suggestive 
of  religion  or  moral  philosophy  and  group  them 
to  show  his  creed,  as  has  been  proposed  since  his 
death.  Under  the  most  diverse  titles  his  faith  in 
ideal  truth  and  beauty  and  the  supremacy  of  the 
moral  law  appears,  though  he  turned  his  back  on 
what  seemed  formal  and  lifeless.  He  said,  "  I 
look  on  sceptics  and  unbelievers  not  as  unbeliev 
ers  but  as  critics  ;  believers  all  must  be." 

But  when  he  was  taken    possession   of  by  a 


248  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

thought  he  took  care  to  present  it  vividly,  and, 
that  it  might  burn  itself  in  upon  reader  or  hearer, 
he  did  not  soften  or  qualify,  feeling  that  he  was 
showing  an  aspect,  a  single  glittering  facet  of 
truth  and  reserving  for  another  paragraph  or  even 
essay  the  other  side  of  the  question,  the  correla 
tive  fact.  Hence  his  writings  are  particularly  ill 
adapted  for  taking  out  a  single  quotation  as  a  final 
statement.  Churchman  and  Agnostic  could  each 
find  in  his  writings  an  armory  of  weapons  against 
the  other,  by  culling  sentences  or  expressions  here 
and  there.  A  superficial  reading  of  one  essay 
might  mislead,  but  further  study  shows  certain 
lines  of  thought  that  underlie  all :  they  occur  in 
early  writings,  wax  as  the  traditional  ideas  wane 
with  the  growth  of  his  mind,  and  before  1840  he 
seems  to  have  rested  in  a  security  that  could  never 
after  be  disturbed  in  the  main  articles  of  his  happy 
belief,  and  thereafter  all  that  came  to  him  but  illus 
trated  or  confirmed  or  expanded  it. 

He  believed  in  Spirit,  not  in  forms,  and  said, 
"  The  true  meaning  of  Spiritual  is  —  Heal." 
Those  around  him  he  saw  anxious  for  the  husk 
which  hid  the  core  from  their  eyes,  but  he  said,  If 
God  lives,  he  is  this  last  moment  as  strong  as  in 
the  dawn  of  things ;  look  then  to  the  living  centre 
and  not  to  the  deciduous  clothing.  The  creature 
must  have  direct  relation  with  the  Creator  and  all 
interposition  or  mediation  is  a  slur  on  the  Al 
mighty. 


ILLUSIONS  OF  MATTER.  249 

His  experience  of  forms  was  that  they  cramped 
him ;  a  growing  tree  must  break  the  encircling 
iron  band  or  suffer  for  it.  In  1834,  having  shaken 
off  what  he  felt  as  fetters  to  his  mind  and  soul, 
and  with  body  sound  once  more  come  among  these 
fields  where  he  could  find  the  serene  solitude  that 
he  needed,  he  sat  down  to  study  great  Nature.  Be 
fore  he  crossed  the  ocean  he  found  his  grief  begin 
to  heal  in  her  presence,  and  in  travel  afar  he  had 
not  found  what  he  was  seeking.  He  daily  went 
out  from  the  four  walls  of  his  study  to  his  larger 
study  in  the  woods,  recorded  what  he  saw,  but 
largely,  not  as  a  final  fact,  —  as  it  were,  with  a  pin 
through  it,  —  but  as  an  appearance,  a  suggestion, 
a  parable,  surely  with  wisdom  behind  it.  He  saw 
light,  flowers,  shadow  on  solid  rock,  but  what  he 
noted  was,  that  the  light  glanced,  the  flower  un 
folded,  the  shadow  passed,  and  even  the  rock  was 
crumbling  under  the  tooth  of  the  air  to  pass  into 
soil,  then  flower,  then  seed,  then  man :  that  all 
was  flowing  and  new  each  moment. 

He  saw  what  the  Greek  saw  and  embodied  in 
the  fable  of  the  sea-god  Proteus,  who,  when  seized, 
changed  rapidly  from  one  form  to  another  until 
the  captor,  bewildered,  let  his  prey  escape.  Beau 
tiful,  healthy,  self -renewing,  ever-shifting  life  he 
saw  was  in  all  things,  and  he  said,  —  What  need  of 
a  break  ?  This  goes  on.  Here  is  the  whole  fact. 
Heaven  is  here  and  now,  or  nowhere  and  never. 


250  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

He  found  that  his  best  thoughts  came  when  he 
was  reverently  passive,  and  that  presently  he  found 
the  same  thought,  or  its  counterpart,  in  a  friend, 
and  said,  We  are  the  vessels ;  the  Spirit  is  the 
same.1  "  God  enters  the  mind  by  channels  that 
the  individual  never  left  open."  Hence  his  essay 
on  Self-Reliance,  which  has  been  called  the  lowest 
note  in  his  philosophy,  rightly  read,  is  the  highest 
note.  He  explains  it,  after  his  manner,  elsewhere, 
and  says  that  one  comes  at  last  to  learn  "  That 
self-reliance,  the  height  and  perfection  of  man,  is 
reliance  on  God."  2  And  again  he  says  :  — 

"  A  man  should  be  a  guest  in  his  own  house  and 
a  guest  in  his  own  thought.  He  is  there  to  speak 
for  truth ;  but  who  is  he  ?  Some  clod  the  truth 
has  snatched  from  the  ground  and  with  fire  has 
fashioned  to  a  momentary  man.  Without  the 
truth  he  is  a  clod  again." 

His  eye  saw  nothing  but  instances  of  existing, 
ever-renewed  creative  force,  whether  in  the  stars, 
or  the  Concord  woods,  or  the  working  of  the  mind, 
and  he  reported  it  with  delight,  feeling  sure  that 

1  In  his  journal,  after  his  oration  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society  in  1837,  he  writes :   "  It  was  the  happiest  turn  to  my  old 
thrum  which  Charles  Henry  Warren  gave  as  a  toast  at  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  dinner.     'Mr.  President,'  he  said,    'I  suppose  all 
know  where  the  Orator  comes  from  ;  and  I  suppose  all  know  what 
he  has  said.     I  give  you  —  The  Spirit  of  Concord  —  it  makes  us 
all  of  one  mind.'  " 

2  Anti-Slavery  Address  in  New  York,  March  7,  1854. 


GOD  BEHIND  ALL  THINGS.  251 

this  living  faith  must  supplant  what  he  called  in 
his  journal  "  the  corpse-cold  Unitarianism  of  Brat 
tle  Street."  This  was  affirmative ;  that  confined 
itself  to  "  pale  negations."  More  than  this,  he 
recognized  the  still  small  voice  as  God  in  us. 

M.  Rene  de  Poyen  Belleisle  said,  "  Whatever 
be  the  subject  treated  by  Emerson,  whatever  be  his 
position  on  the  circumference,  we  are  always  sure 
that  he  will  follow  the  ray  which  infallibly  leads 
him  to  the  centre ;  God  is  all,  in  all,  and  every 
where." 

But  the  faithful  were  not  ready  and  said,  It  is 
Pantheism.  So  it  was,  but  of  a  kind  that  hardly 
differs  from  the  teaching  of  Omnipresent  God  in 
whom  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being. 

And  he  saw  that  in  nature  Beauty  was  every 
where  inseparable  from  living  creation,  and  all  his 
life  held  that  there  can  be  no  divorce  between  high 
intellect  and  morals  but  to  the  loss  of  the  former. 
Beauty,  Goodness,  Wisdom,  became  in  his  mind 
terms  as  closely  connected,  almost  equivalent,  as 
heat,  motion,  chemical  action  are  to  the  physicist. 

Nowhere  have  I  seen  so  perfect  an  apprehension 
of  this  basal  thought  of  all  my  father's  work,  the 
secret  of  the  joy  and  calm  of  his  life,  as  is  shown 
by  the  late  Sidney  Lanier  in  his  last  lecture  at  the 
Johns  Hopkins  University,  printed  after  his  death 
in  the  Century  Magazine  (May,  1883),  called 
Moral  Purpose  in  Art.  From  it  I  quote  the  fol 
lowing  passages :  — 


252  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

"  It  is  most  instructive  to  note  how  the  fine  and 
beautiful  souls  of  all  time  appear  after  a  while  to 
lose  all  sense  of  distinction  between  these  terms,  — 
Beauty,  Truth,  Love,  Wisdom,  Goodness,  and  the 
like.  Hear  some  testimony  on  this  point.  .  .  . 
Keats  does  not  hesitate  to  draw  a  moral  even  from 
the  Grecian  Urn,  and  even  in  the  very  climacteric 
of  his  most  l  high-sorrowful  song ' ;  and  that  moral 
effaces  the  distinction  between  truth  and  beauty. . . . 

" '  When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste, 
Thou  shalt  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 
Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  sayst 
"Beauty  is  truth,  truth,  beauty,"  —  that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know.' 

Again,  bearing  in  mind  this  identity  of  truth 
and  beauty  in  Keats's  view,  observe  how  Emerson 
by  strange  turns  of  thought  subtly  refers  both  truth 
and  beauty  to  a  common  principle  of  the  essential 
relation  of  each  thing  to  all  things  in  the  universe." 
[He  quotes  from  the  poem  Each  and  All  and  goes 
on :  — ] 

"  '  Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone  : ' 

That  is  to  say,  fairness,  or  beauty,  and  goodness 
depend  upon  relations  between  creatures.  .  .  .  Let 
us  now  carry  forward  this  connection  between  love 
and  beauty  ...  in  a  poem  called  The  Celestial 
Love,  where  instead  of  identifying  beauty  and 
truth,  with  Keats,  we  find  him  making  love  and 


TRUTH,  LOVE,  BEAUTY,  ARE  ONE.        253 

truth  to  be  one."  [He  quotes  the  passage  begin 
ning:— 

"  Love's  hearts  are  faithful,  but  not  fond."] 

..."  But  now  let  me  once  more  turn  the  tube 
and  gain  another  radiant  arrangement  of  these 
kaleidoscopic  elements,  beauty  and  love  and  the 
like.  In  Emerson's  poem  called  Beauty  (which 
must  be  distinguished  from  the  Ode  to  Beauty) 
the  relation  between  love  and  beauty  takes  this 
turn.  Of  Seyd  he  says :  — 

" '  Beauty  chased  he  everywhere, 
In  flame,  in  storm,  in  clouds  of  air. 


While  thus  to  love  he  gave  his  days 
In  loyal  worship,  scorning  praise, 
How  spread  their  lures  for  him  in  vain 
Thieving  Ambition  and  paltering  Gain  t 
He  thought  it  happier  to  be  dead, 
To  die  for  Beauty,  than  live  for  bread.' 

You  observe  love  is  substituted  for  beauty  in  the 
most  naive  assumption  that  the  one  involves  the 
other." 

After  what  has  been  said  I  may  well  let  the  idle 
statement  pass  unnoticed  that  Mr.  Emerson  found 
his  beliefs  barren,  and  under  the  leadership  of  this 
or  that  divine  wished  to  be  taken  back  into  the 
church ;  but  let  these  extracts  from  letters  written 
by  him  to  friends,  and,  I  believe,  not  elsewhere 


254  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

printed,  speak  to  the  point  whether  he  belonged  to 
the  Church  Universal  or  no. 

"  CONCORD,  July  3, 1841. 

"  I  am  very  much  moved  by  the  earnestness  of 
your  appeal,  but  very  much  humbled  by  it ;  for  in 
attributing  to  me  that  attainment  and  that  rest 
which  I  well  know  are  not  mine  it  accuses  my 
shortcomings.  I  am,  like  you,  a  seeker  of  the  per 
fect  and  admirable  Good.  My  creed  is  very  sim 
ple,  that  Goodness  is  the  only  Reality,  that  to 
Goodness  alone  can  we  trust,  to  that  we  may  trust 
all  and  always ;  beautiful  and  blessed  and  blessing 
is  it,  even  though  it  should  seem  to  slay  me. 

"  Beyond  this  I  have  no  knowledge,  no  intelli 
gence  of  methods  ;  I  know  no  steps,  no  degrees,  no 
favorite  means,  no  detached  rules.  Itself  is  gate 
and  road  and  leader  and  march.  Only  trust  it,  be 
of  it,  be  it,  and  it  shall  be  well  with  us  forever.  It 
will  be  and  govern  in  its  own  transcendent  way, 
and  not  in  ways  that  arithmetic  and  mortal  expe 
rience  can  measure.  I  can  surely  give  no  account 
of  the  origin  and  growth  of  my  trust,  but  this  only, 
that  the  trust  accompanies  the  incoming  of  that 
which  is  trusted.  Blessed  be  that !  Happy  am  I 
when  I  am  a  trust;  unhappy  and  so  far  dead  if 
it  should  ebb  from  me.  If  I,  if  all  should  deny 
it,  there  not  the  less  would  it  be  and  prevail  and 
create. 


THE  OVERSOUL.  255 

"  We  are  poor,  but  it  is  rich :  as  every  wave  crests 
itself  with  foam,  so  this  can  incarnate  itself  every 
where  with  armies  of  ministers,  inorganic,  organic 
plant,  brute,  man,  angel,  to  execute  its  will.  What 
have  we  to  do  but  to  cry  unto  it  All-Hail,  Good 
Spirit ;  it  is  enough  for  us  that  we  take  form  for 
thy  needs :  Thou  art  in  us ;  Thou  art  us.  Shall 
we  not  learn  to  look  at  our  bodies  with  a  religious 
joy,  and  empty  every  object  of  its  meanness  by 
seeing  how  it  came  to  be  ? 

"  But  the  same  Goodness  in  which  we  believe,  or 
rather  which  always  believes  on  itself,  as  soon  as 
we  cease  to  consider  duties,  and  consider  persons, 
becomes  Love,  imperious  Love,  that  great  Prophet 
and  Poet,  that  Comforter,  that  Omnipotency  in  the 
heart.  Its  eye  falls  on  some  mortal  form,  but  it 
rests  not  a  moment  there ;  but,  as  every  leaf  rep 
resents  to  us  all  vegetable  nature,  so  love  looks 
through  that  spotted,  blighted  form  to  the  vast 
spiritual  element  of  which  it  was  created  and 
which  it  represents.  We  demand  of  those  we  love 
that  they  shall  be  excellent  in  countenance,  in 
speech,  in  behavior,  in  power,  in  will.  They  are 
not  so ;  we  are  grieved,  but  we  were  in  the  right  to 
ask  it.  If  they  do  not  share  the  Deity  that  dic 
tated  to  our  thought  this  immense  wish,  they  will 
quickly  pass  away,  but  the  demand  will  not  die, 
but  will  go  on  accumulating  as  the  supply  accumu 
lates,  and  the  virtues  of  the  soul  in  the  remotest 


256  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

ages  will  only  begin  to  fulfil  the  first  craving  of  our 
poor  heart. 

"  I  count  you  happy  that  your  soul  suggests  to 
you  such  affectionate  and  noble  errands  to  other 
spirits  as  the  wish  to  give  them  your  happiness  and 
your  freedom.  That  the  Good  Heart,  which  is  the 
heart  of  us  all,  may  still  enrich  you  with  new  and 
larger  impulses  of  joy  and  power  is  the  wish  of 
your  affectionate  servant, 

"  K.  WALDO  EMERSON." 

"  CONCORD,  June  15,  1842. 
•         •••••••• 

"  The  wonderful  spirit  that  streams  through  us, 
though  in  the  prodigality  of  its  flood  it  seems  to 
stagnate  in  thousands  of  pools  and  ponds  of  dull 
customary  life,  never  forgets  itself,  never  pauses, 
but  goes  from  greatness  to  greatness  imperceptibly 
and  in  each  individual  uninterruptedly  on,  abol 
ishing  in  the  extent  of  the  moment  or  thought  all 
that  we  valued  in  the  past ;  and  though  it  takes  up 
the  Past  into  to-day,  it  has  found  in  it  new  values, 
and  uses  what  we  slighted. 

"  The  past  thus  becomes  as  new  as  the  present 
and  is  still  to  change  by  new  classifications,  so  that 
we  are  ever  running  backward  out  of  the  present 
wisdom  ;  and  thus  nothing  has  an  end,  but  every 
oldest  fact  and  thought  buds  and  blossoms  and 
yields  fruit  in  the  garden  of  God." 


YOUTH  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  257 

In  a  journal  occurs  a  draft  of  a  letter  to  an 
old  friend,  after  her  conversion  to  the  Church  of 
Rome,  written  much  later  than  the  preceding  letters. 
He  says :  — 

"  To  me  the  difference  of  churches  looks  so  friv 
olous  that  I  cannot  easily  give  the  preference  that 
civility  should  to  one  or  another.  To  old  eyes  how 
supremely  unimportant  the  form  under  which  we 
celebrate  the  justice,  love  and  truth,  the  attributes 
of  the  deity  and  the  soul !  " 

His  own  last  days  were  serene  and  happy  as 
should  befall  such  a  life  and  such  belief.  In  1864, 
almost  at  the  time  when  he  wrote  Terminus,  his 
journal  says :  — 

"  Within  I  do  not  find  wrinkles  and  used  heart, 
but  unspent  youth." 

Long  before,  he  had  written :  — 

"  Old  age,  ...  I  see  no  need  of  it.  Whilst  we 
converse  with  what  is  above  us  we  do  not  grow  old, 
but  grow  young.  Infancy,  youth,  receptive,  aspir 
ing,  with  religious  eye  looking  upward,  counts  itself 
nothing  and  abandons  itself  to  the  instruction 
flowing  in  from  all  sides.  But  the  man  and  woman 
of  seventy  assume  to  know  all,  throw  up  their  hope, 
renounce  aspiration,  accept  the  actual  for  the  neces 
sary,  and  talk  down  to  the  young.  ...  Is  it  possi 
ble  a  man  should  not  grow  old  ?  I  will  not  answer 
for  this  crazy  body.  It  seems  a  ship  which  carries 


258  EMERSON  IN  CONCORD. 

him  through  the  waves  of  this  world  and  whose 
timbers  contract  barnacles  and  dry-rot,  and  will  not 
serve  for  a  second  course.  But  I  refuse  to  admit 
this  appeal  to  the  old  people  we  know  as  valid 
against  a  good  hope.  For  do  we  know  one  who 
is  an  organ  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  " 

The  following  fragment  from  a  journal  when 
he  was  sixty  years  old  was  perhaps  a  fancy  about 
the  members  of  that  favored  company,  the  Satur 
day  Club,  as  there  is  an  entry  on  the  same  page 
about  Charles  Sumner's  election  to  the  "  Saturday- 
rians  " :  — 

"  In  that  country,  a  peculiarity,  that  after  sixty 
years  a  certain  mist  or  dimness,  a  sort  of  autumnal 
haze  settled  on  the  figure,  veiling  especially  all  de 
cays.  Gradually,  year  by  year,  the  outline  became 
indistinct  and  the  halo  gayer  and  brighter.  At 
last  there  was  only  left  a  sense  of  presence  and  the 
virtue  of  personality,  as  if  Gyges  never  turned  his 
ring  again." 

While  crossing  the  Atlantic  for  the  last  time 
homewards  my  father  fulfilled  his  threescore  and 
ten  years,  and  his  friend  Mr.  Charles  Eliot  Norton, 
a  fellow-passenger,  saluted  him  thus  truly  on  that 
birthday  morning :  — 


SALUTATION.  259 

"TO  R.  W.  EMERSON. 
"MAY  25,  1873. 

"  Blest  of  the  highest  gods  are  they  who  die 

Ere  youth  is  fled.    For  them,  their  mother  Fate 
Clasping  from  happy  earth  to  happier  sky, 
Frees  life,  and  joy,  and  love  from  dread  of  date. 

"  But  thee,  revered  of  men,  the  gods  have  blest 

With  fruitful  years.     And  yet  for  thee,  in  sooth, 
They  have  reserved  of  all  their  gifts  the  best, — 
And  thou,  though  full  of  days,  shalt  die  in  youth." 


INDEX. 


Abbott,  Judge  Josiah  G.,  32. 

Abolition  of  slavery,  74-79. 

Abolitionists,  75,  175. 

Academy,  French,  190. 

Action,  value  of  to  the  scholar,  82, 
214,  215. 

Adams,  Abel,  39, 120,  199. 

Adams,  John,  101. 

Adams,  John  Quincy,  101. 

Adirondac  Club,  157. 

-Eolian  Harp,  172. 

Agassiz,  104, 120,  145,  184. 

Age,  no  allowance  for,  in  conversation, 
174,  177. 

Age,  the  present,  226,  242,  246. 

Agricultural  Society,  Middlesex,  ad 
dress  before,  136. 

"  Agriculture  in  Massachusetts,"  137. 

Alcott,  Amos  Bronson,  106-108,  120, 
127, 128,  165,  203. 

Alger,  Rev.  William  R.,  236. 

Amelioration,  65,  130. 

America,  134. 

Ancestors,  2-4. 

Anecdotes  of  Old  Concord,  17,  52,  53, 
67,  80,  96,  102,  139-142,  148,  150. 

Angelo,  Michael,  163, 167. 

Animals,  127, 158,  159. 

"  Anthology,  The  Monthly,"  6. 

Anti-slavery  meetings,  76,  78,  87,  88. 

Anti-slavery  organization,  75. 

Apples,  117,  129-132. 

Approbated  to  preach,  33. 

Aristocracy,  Natural,  lecture  on,  85- 
87,92. 

Arnold,  Matthew.  176, 177. 

Art,  97,  98,  163,  167. 

Artillery  Company,  Ancient  and  Hon 
orable,  7. 

Artillery,  Concord,  103. 

Athenaeum,  Concord,  90. 

Athenaeum  library  (Boston),  6,  50. 

Babies,  166. 

Bancroft,  George,  30, 96. 
Bardic  poetry,  229. 
Barnwell,  Robert,  27. 
Bartlett,  Dr.  Josiah,  150. 
Bathing,  155,  156. 
Beaconsfield.  Lord,  189. 


Beauty,  64,  66, 118, 119, 163, 164, 172, 

238,  240,  245,  251,  253. 
Beauty,  poem  on,  172, 253. 
Bigelow's  tavern,  94. 
Birds,  60,  128,  158. 
Bliss,  Rev.  Daniel,  3,  55. 
Bliss,  Phebe,  3,  55. 
Bodily  characteristics,  156,  163,  165, 

166. 
Books,  9,  25,  29-31,  36,  37,  42,  60,  65, 

109, 117,  118,  170, 174, 181,  216. 
Boston,  97 ;  early  recollections  of,  12- 

15;  residence  in,  4-16,  19,  39-42. 
Boston  mob,  88. 
Bradford,  Dr.  Gamaliel,  34. 
Bradford,  George  P.,  43,  104, 106, 126, 

Bradford,  Samuel,  11. 
Brahma,  the  poem,  162  229. 
Brown,  John,  of  Ossawatomie,  87. 
Browning,  Robert,  220,  229. 
Bulkeley,  Elizabeth,  2. 
Bulkeley,  Rev.  Peter,  2, 104. 
Burial,  196. 

Burke,  Edmund,  170,  227. 
Business  ability,  125,  197-201. 
Byron,  173,  229. 

Cabot,  James  Elliot,  1,  104,  123, 184, 

188,  189,  195,  226. 
Cabot's  memoir  of  Emerson,  1. 
Caesar,  Julius,  anecdote  of,  152. 
"  Caesar's  Woods,"  18, 171. 
California,  157,  184. 
Cambridge,  residence  in,  23-31,  33. 
Campbell,  17,  221,  229. 

lal-boat  travelling,  178. 
Canterbury  (Roxbury),  Mass.,  28. 
Capital  punishment,  88. 
Card-playing,  168. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  37,  45, 187, 194, 197, 

Celestial  Love,  a  poem,  252. 
Channing,  Rev.  W.  E.,  D.  D.,  34,  104. 
~  ranning,  William   Ellery,   71,   104, 

115-118,  127,  141,  171. 
Channing,  Rev.  William  H. ,  220. 
Chardon    St.,  Boston,  residence   in, 

39. 
Charity,  198,  201,  210,  211. 


262 


INDEX. 


Charleston,  S.  C.,  34,  35. 

Cheerfulness,  47,  49, 108,  179,  193. 

Chelmsford  Academy,  32. 

Cheney,  John  M.,  24. 

Chesapeake  and  Shannon.  12. 

Chicago,  142,  180,  185. 

Childhood,  7-17. 

Children,  166, 174. 

Church,  First,  in  Boston,  4,  8,  34; 
Second,  in  Boston,  37-42,  50,  70  ;  in 
Concord,  67-71,  106,  191,  196;  in 
East  Lexington,  67-68 ;  in  New  Bed 
ford,  36,  47.  48;  Roman  Catholic, 
257. 

Church  Universal,  169,  241,  248,  251, 
254,257. 

Church  forms,  40,  41,  48, 248,  249. 

Church-going,  70-71,  169,  191. 

Church,  hymn  on  the,  70. 

Church  music,  69. 

Cid,  Southey's  Chronicle  of  the,  170. 

Civic  duties,  65-67,  71,  72,  81-90, 142, 

Classics,  173, 181. 

Classmates,  24,  27,  29. 

Class-poem,  27. 

Clubs,  Conventicle  and  Pythologian, 
24  ;  Adirondac,  157  ;  Saturday,  123, 
184,258. 

Coleridge,  36,  42,  54. 

College  days,  20-27. 

Color  and  form,  98,  113,  116,  119, 
163. 

Communities,  139,  203. 

Compensation,  31, 131, 140,  206,  229. 

Concord,  Mass.,  ancestral  ties  to,  2, 
3,51-55;  residence  in,  in  childhood, 
16,  17 ;  first  public  speech  hi,  17  ; 
visits  in  youth,  18,  19,  55;  settles 
there  in  1834,  51 ;  buys  house  and 
lands  there,  55,  58,  124,  127 ;  gives 
oration  on  200th  anniversary  of  set 
tlement  of,  57,  148,  216;  brings 
wife  there,  57 ;  first  town  office, 
67 ;  relation  to  people  there,  55-67, 
98,  99,  106,  136-138,  146,  149,  150, 
180,  185,  187. 

Concord,  N.  H.,  36,  37,  39. 

Concord,  river,  18,  112,  118,  232-234  ; 
meadows  and  woods  and  walks,  18, 
19,  58,  63,  103,  112,  115-118,  171, 
172,  192,231-233,249,250;  meeting 
house,  68-71 ;  library,  146 ;  Lyceum, 
73-75,  120,  147,  190,  191 ;  Fire  As 
sociation,  91 ;  town  meetings,  71-73, 
80-83  ;  schools,  16,  142-145  ;  events 
and  celebrations,  17,  57,  93,  94,  103, 
104,  146, 148, 185,  187 ;  militia  com 
panies,  103;  Mill-dam,  stores,  tav 
erns,  and  jioor-house,  94,  99,  100, 
109,  141,  150 ;  characters  and  anec 
dotes,  102,  137-142,  149;  advan 
tages  of  life  hi,  51,  58,  99,  102-104, 
106,  112;  celebration  of  his  return 
to,  1873,  187. 


Concord  Fight,  3, 57. 

Considerateness,  151, 152, 177, 202, 212. 

Conway,  Rev.  Moncure  D.,  46. 

Copan  and  Conantum,  171. 

"  Cornwallis,"  the,  93. 

Courage,  85,  150, 168. 

Courtesy,  151-154,  174,  177,  209,  210. 

Court-house,  17,  186. 

Culture,  161. 

Dame  School,  7. 
Dante,  92,  181. 
Darwin,  65. 
Davenport,  Iowa,  179. 
"  Days,"  the  poem,  236. 
Deacon  Reuben  Brown  (?),  70. 
Deacon  Parkman,  141. 
Deacon  White's  store,  17. 
Death,  105,  168, 176,  240. 

"       Mr.  Emerson's,  195. 
Declamation,   15,  17,  19,  20,  27,  143, 

144,  173. 

Defenders,  149, 185. 
Dewey,  Rev.  Orville,  36.  47. 
Dial,  the,  123,  133,  137,  227,  228. 
Dirge,  the  poem,  18. 
Discipline,  family,  167-174. 
Discussion,  inaptness  for,  96,  212. 
Distance,  eye  for,  90. 
Divinity  School  address,  183,  226,  245. 
Divinity,  study  of,  31,  33. 

Downing's  "Fruit  Culture,"  130. 
Drawing,  90,  163. 
Dress,  155. 

"  Each  and  All,"  the  poem,  252. 

Ear  for  music,  69,  164,  165,  172,  231. 

Eating  and  drinking,  152-155. 

Echo,  172. 

Education,  143-145,  173,  174. 

Egypt,  187. 

Elocution,  39,  173. 

Eloquence,  72,  73. 

Emancipation,  76. 

Emblems,  95. 

Emerson,  Charles  Chauncey,  6, 16,  18, 
39,  49-51,  57,  67,  82,  104-106. 

Emerson,  Edith  (Forbes),  109, 185, 186. 

Emerson,  Edward,  of  Newbury,  2. 

Emerson,  Edward  Bliss,  5,  16,  18.  26, 
33,  42,  49-52,  105. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Ellen  Louisa  (Tucker), 
36-40,  104,  223. 

Emerson,  Ellen  Tucker,  109,  185-188. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  of  Mendon,  2. 

Emerson,  Joseph,  of  Maiden,  3. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Lydia  [Lidian]  (Jack 
son),  67,  170,  171,  185,  193,  195. 

Emerson,  Mary  Moody,  9,  16,  21,  52- 
54,  95,  104,  168,  217. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  Ruth  (Haskins),  4,  8, 
21,  39,  51,  105,  123,  124,  128,  196. 

Emerson,  Thomas,  of  Ipswich,  2. 

Emerson,  Waldo,  129,  167. 


INDEX. 


263 


Emerson,  William,  of  Concord,  3,  57. 
Emerson,  William,  of    Harvard  and 

Boston,  4-7. 
Emerson,  William,  of  New  York,  5, 20, 

28,  49,  50,  91,  105,  215. 
Emerson,  William  Ralph,  185,  237. 
England,  122,  176,  217. 
England,  visits  to,  45,  85,  186. 
"  English  Traits,"  46. 
Erasmus,  173. 

Essays,  made  out  of  lectures,  64,  219. 
Europe,  visits  to,  42,  85,  186. 
Everett,  Edward,  30,  104. 
Everett,  John,  15. 
Eye,  97,  98, 163, 164. 

Facts,  symbolic  use  of,  64, 66, 100, 131, 
134,  163,  164,  238,  239,  249. 

Fanaticism  necessary  to  work,  95. 

Farmers,  98,  135,  136,  147. 

Farming,  99,  126,  132-136. 

Fields,  James  T.,  200. 

Financial  conditions,  178,  184,  197- 
201. 

Fire  Association,  91. 

Fire  in  Mr.  Emerson's  house,  149, 185. 

Fires  in  the  woods,  91. 

Fitchburg  railroad,  106,  135,  142,  178. 

Florence,  43,  44, 186. 

Florida,  expedition  to,  34. 

Flowers,  61,  157,  158,  171,  172. 

Flowers,  Mrs.  Emerson's,  66. 

Fond  du  Lac,  Wisconsin,  181. 

Forbes,  John  Murray,  121-123,  157, 

184,  185. 

Forbes,  Col.  William  H.,  185,  200. 

Forces,  131,  136,  239,  251. 

Forest,  59-65,  116,  117, 164. 

Form  and  color,  98, 113,  116,  119,  163. 

Forms  in  worship,  40,  41,  48,  249. 

"  Fortus,"  an  early  poem,  11. 

Fourier,  101. 

France,  44,  85,  186. 

Freedom,  75,  77,  87,  89,  176. 

Free  speech,  85. 

Free  trade,  83,  84. 

Friends,  104-124,  126-128,  157,   184, 

185,  195,  199,  200,  201. 
Frothingham,  Rev.  Nathaniel,  124. 

"  Fruit  Culture,"  Downing's  book  on, 
130. 

Fruit-lands  Community,  203. 

Fruit-trees,  66,  125,  129,  130. 

Fruit,  Van  Mons'  theory  of  ameliora 
tion,  130, 131. 

Fugitive  slave,  76,  77,  80. 

Fugitive  Slave  Act,  77. 

Fuller,  Margaret,  104,  161,  220. 

Furness,  Rev.  William  H.,  D.  D.,  7, 
11,  107, 186,  211. 


Gardening,  66,  79,  124-127,  129-136. 
Garrison,  William  Lloyd,  76,  104. 
Gifts,  128. 


Glasgow  University  rectorship,  189. 
God,  70,  176,  241,  248,  250,  251,  254, 

Goethe,  65. 


"  Good-bye,  Proud  World,"  the  poem, 

Good  out  of  evil,  80,  82,  131, 145,  229, 

239,  240,  244,  246. 
Goodwin,  Rev.  Hersey  B.,  106. 
Goodwin,  the  fisherman,  141. 
Gould,  Master,  B.  A.,  11. 
Grammar  school,  10. 
Grandchildren,  166,  195. 
Greenough,  Horatio,  44, 191. 
"Growth  of  the  Mind,"  by  Samson 

Reed,  37. 
Guests,  120, 153, 175. 

Hafiz,  231. 

Happiness,  49,  139-245,  246. 

Harrison  campaign  (1840),  94. 

Harvard,  Mass.,  4,  182. 

Harvard      University       (Cambridge. 

Mass.),  143,  146,  175,  183. 
Haskins,  Rev.  D.  G.,  48. 
Haskins,  Ruth,  4.     (See  Mrs.   Ruth 

Emerson.) 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  104,  108,  109, 

184. 
Health,   43,   165,   166,   184,  185,   188. 

193-195,  197,  213,  224. 
Heat,  164,  166. 

Hedge,  Rev.  F.  H.,  D.  D.,  237. 
Heroism,  lecture  on,  85. 
Heywood,  Dr.  Abiel,  141. 
Higher  law,  90. 
History,  early  reading,  15. 
Hoar,  Elizabeth,  68, 104,  112,  119, 123. 
Hoar,  Judge  E.  R.,    119,    157,    167, 

184. 

Hoar,  Samuel,  50,  76, 104, 119. 
Hog-reeve,  office  of,  67. 
Holmes,  Dr.  O.  W.,  184. 
Hope,  2,  31,  47, 113, 197,  244,  246,  258. 
Horsemen,  98, 158. 
Hosmer,  Edmund,  71,  80,  137. 
Hospitality,  154, 175,  202. 
Hospitality  to  ideas,  153, 174, 175,  202, 

206. 

Hotels,  165,  178-180. 
House  in  Concord,  purchase  of,  55 ; 

additions  to,  105  ;   partial  burning 

of,  149,  185 ;  rebuilding  of,  185,  201 ; 

return  to,  187. 

Houses  in  Boston,  4-9,  19,  39. 
Humility,  81,  96,  98,  114, 143, 174, 180, 

187,  212,  219. 

Humor,  156,  160-163,  182,  205. 
Hunt,  Benjamin  Peter,  32. 
Hunter,  John,  65. 
Hymn  at  dedication  of  Concord  mon- 

ument,  149. 
Hymn  at  ordination  of  Rev.  Chandler 

Robbins  at  Second  Church,  70. 
Hymn, «« All  before  us  lies  the  way," 


264 


INDEX. 


by  Miss  Clapp,  wrongly  attributed 
to  Mr.  Emerson,  237. 
Hymns,  39,  170. 

Idealism,  14. 

Illusions,  164,  249. 

Immortality,  62. 

Indirection,  176. 

Infantry   Company,    Concord   Light, 

Inspiration,  214,    217,    226-228,   236, 

238-244. 
Intellect,  Natural  History  of,  course 

at  Cambridge,  183. 
Ireland,  Alexander,  46. 
Italy,  43,  44,  186. 

Jackson,  Dr.  Charles  T.,  101. 
Jackson,  Miss  Lydia,  48,  57. 
Journals,  63,  64, 190. 

Kansas,  Free  State  conflict,  87. 
Keyes,  John  8.,  185. 
Kingdom  of  Heaven,  139. 
Kirkland,  Rev.  John  Thornton,  Pres 
ident  of  Harvard  University,  23. 
Kosciusko,  17. 
Kossuth,  87. 

Labor,  151. 

Laborer,  98, 136, 151. 

Lafayette,  104,  223. 

Lamarck,  65. 

Landor,  44. 

Land-owning,  126. 

Lanier,  Sidney,  251-253. 

Latin  authors  and  language,  173, 181. 

Latin  School,  Boston,  11. 

Laughter,  163. 

Law  studies,  77, 78. 

"Leaves  of  Grass,"  by  W.  Whitman, 

228. 
Lectures  in  Concord,  73,  75, 147, 148, 

191 ;  in  England,  217 ;  at  Harvard 

University,  283. 

Lectures,  writing  of,  54,  218,  219. 
Lecturing  journeys  to  the  West,  146, 

165,  178-183, 185. 
Ledge,  Walden,  58,  59,  171. 
"Letters  and  Social  Aims,"  Mr.  Cab 
ot's  help  in  preparing,  188, 189. 
Letters  from  young  people,  175,  191. 
Letters  of  introduction,  45. 
Lexington,  East  (Mass.),  preaching  at, 

67,  68. 

Linnaeus,  66. 
Longfellow,  194. 
Lord's  Supper,  the,  40,  49. 
Love,  168,  252,  255. 
Love,  The  Celestial,  a  poem,  252. 
Lovejoy,  his  martyrdom,  85. 
Lowell,  General  Charles  Russell,  175. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  114,  157,  170. 
Lyceum,  Concord,  73-75, 147, 148,  190, 

191. 


Lyceums,  48,  73-75, 178, 179, 182, 199, 
Lyell,'  65. ' 

Malta,  42. 

Manners,  98,  120,  138,  151,  152,  154, 

163,  168,  174,  177,  202. 
Manse,  The  Old  (Concord),  3,  18,  51- 

57, 186. 

Marriage,  39,  57. 
Materialism,  88. 
Mathematics,  15,  23, 174, 198. 
Maxims,  10,  168. 
May-Day,  183,  232,  236. 
Meadows,  Concord,  18,  58. 
Melody,  15. 
Merlin,  229. 
Metaphysics,  183. 
Metre  (see  Rhyme  and  Rhythm). 
Military  instinct,  91,  92. 
Military  service,  91. 
Militia,  91-94,  103. 
Mill-dam  (see  Concord). 
Mind,  The  Universal,  63,  229,  234, 241. 

247,  249-251,  254,  256. 
Ministry  in  Boston,  37,  42. 
Ministry  in  East  Lexington.  67,  68. 
Minneapolis,  181. 
Minot,  George,  80,  137,  139. 
"  Monotones,"  202,  205,  207. 
Montaigne,  29. 
Moody,      Rev.      Samuel      ("Father 

Moody  "),  3. 

Moore,  poetry  of,  15,  229. 
Moral  law,  80,  240,  241,  244,  247. 
Morning,  61,  245. 
Mountains,  41,  172,  177. 
Murat,  Achille,  35. 
Murat,  Joachim,  king  of  Naples,  35, 

173. 

Music,  69,  99,  164, 165. 
Musical  eyes,  164. 
Musketaquid  (see  Concord  River). 
Muster,  92,  93. 
"My  Garden,"  the  poem,  58,  59,  65, 

232. 

Naples,  43. 

Napoleon,  91, 152, 166. 

Natural  history,  65,  66,  249,  250. 

Natural  History  of  the  Intellect,  lec 
tures  at  Harvard  University,  183. 

Nature,  49,  59-65,  112,  113, 163,  167, 
192,  224,  230,  232, 238,  240,  242,  243, 
247,  249,  251. 

Naushon,  121,  122. 

Navy,  U.  S.,  early  poems  in  honor  of, 
10, 12. 

Neighborhoods,  99,  139. 

Neighbors,  80,  136-141,  147,  149,  185, 

New  Bedford,  47,  48.  ^  ^  7 

Newton,  visits  to,  31,  196.         r** 
Newton,  Isaac,  131. 
Nile,  187. 


INDEX. 


265 


Noddle's  Island  fortifications,  12. 

North  End  people,  15-38. 

Norton,  Charles  Eliot,  Professor,  184, 

258 ;  his  poem  to  Emerson  on  his 

seventieth  birthday,  259. 

Obedience,  doctrine  of,  47. 

Old  age,  124,  183,  192,  193,  221,  257. 

Old  North  Bridge,  4,  149. 

Optimism,  2,  47,  88,  140,  145,  244-247, 

Oracles,  176. 

Oriental  poetry,  231. 

Orpheus,  243. 

Osiris,  187. 

Osman,  Emerson's  name  for  the  ideal 

self,  101,  210,  226. 
Over  soul,  214,  241,  246,  248-256. 
Owen,  65. 

"  Pairing  off,"  81. 

Pan,  112,  232. 

Pantheism,  63,  251. 

Parables,  64,  205. 

Paris,  45,  186. 

Parks,  John  C.,  26. 

Pastoral  duties,  38. 

Peace  of  1815,  17. 

Pears,  129-132. 

Peter's  Field,  17,  171. 

Phi   Beta  Kappa    Society,  addresses 

and  poems  before  the,  183,  223,  224, 

250. 

Philse,  187. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  75,  76,  88,  104. 
Pine-trees,  58,  64,  65,  91, 127,  172,  192, 

196,  214. 

Playground,  145. 
Plutarch,  174. 

Plymouth  (Mass.),  48,  57,  62. 
Poem,  Class,  27, 222  ;  Phi  Beta  Kappa, 

183,  223,  224. 
Poems,  youthful,  11,  12,  18,  221-223 ; 

of  middle  lif e,  223-230 ;  later,  173, 

230,  237  ;  first  prose  rhapsodies  for, 

232-236. 
Poet,  The,  a  poem,  224,  226,  239,  242, 

243. 
Poet,  the  office  and  fortune  of,  117, 

118,  223,  230,  238-244. 
Poetry,  60, 136,  151, 170,  172, 173,  221- 

247. 
Poetry,  classic  and  conventional,  60, 

221,  222,  227  ;  early  love  of,  15,  221 ; 

history  of  Emerson's  progress  in  the 

art  of,  221-237. 
Politics,  71-90,  94,  95. 
Pope,  221. 

Positive  teaching,  170. 
Poverty,  16,  197. 
Prayer,  32,  40,  48. 
Prayers,  essay  on,  133. 
Preaching,  Mr.  Emerson's,  32-42,  46, 


Preaching,  68-71. 
Proteus,  249. 


Quakers,  religion  of  the,  47. 
Quotations  from  the  Bible,  159, 160. 

Railroad  travelling,  178-182. 
Rarey's  horse-taming,  158. 
Reading,  good,  39,  143. 
Real  versus  Spiritual,  163,  248. 
Reed,  Samson,  101 ;  his  book  on  th« 

"  Growth  of  the  Mind,"  37. 
Reformers,    treatment   of,  153,  201- 

206,  209-212. 

Reformers,  anecdotes  of,  206,  210. 
Reforms,  204,  206 ;  attitude  towards, 

75,  78,  153-155,  161,  203,  204,  206. 
Religion,  46,  47,  64,  68,  170,  247-256. 
Rhetoric,  15. 
Rhyme  and  rhythm,   221,  222,    224, 

227-229,  231-234,  243. 
Rice,  Reuben  N.,  90,  149,  180. 
Riches,  201,  211. 
Riding,  156,  157,  168. 
Ripley,  Miss  Elizabeth,  186. 
Ripley,  Rev.  Ezra,  D.  D.,  16,  19,  34, 

49,  55,  106. 

Ripley,  Rev.  Samuel,  20,  33. 
Ripley,  Mrs.  Sarah  Alden  (Bradford), 

104,  106. 
River,  Concord  or  Musketaquid  (see 

Concord). 

Rivers,  The  Two,  232-234. 
Robbins,  Rev.  Chandler,  70. 
Rock  Island,  Illinois,  179. 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  257. 
Rome,  43,44,  186. 
Roses  and  tulips,  66. 
Rotch,  Miss  Mary,  47. 
Rowing,  113,  118. 
Russian  reformer,  209, 210. 
Russian  student  arrested  for  possess 
ing  Emerson's  Essay  on  Self-Reli- 

ance,  191. 

Saadi,  Said  or  Seyd,  71,  226,  253. 

Sabbath,  171. 

Sanborn,  F.  B.,  "Life  of  Thoreau," 
133. 

Saturday  Club,  123,  184,  258. 

Scholar,  The,  address  delivered  be 
fore  the  "Washington  and  Jefferson 
Literary  Societies  of  the  University 
of  Virginia,  190. 

Scholar,  duties  of,  82-84,  90, 175,  213  ; 
happiness  of,  190;  weaknesses  of, 
161,  180. 

Scholars,  Mr.  Emerson's,  30-32. 

School-days  in  Boston,  7,  10-15  ;  in 
Concord,  16-18 ;  in  Waltham,  20, 
22,24. 

School-keeping  in  Boston,  28,  in  Cam- 
bridge,  33 ;  in  Chelmsf  ord,  32. 

Schoolmates,  10,  11. 

Schools,  Concord,  16, 142-145. 


266 


INDEX. 


Scott,  172, 173,  244. 

Sea-shore,  The,  a  poem,  235. 

Sea  voyages,  34,  42. 

Self-heal,  172. 

Self-reliance,  191,  250. 

Servants,  151,  152,  169. 

Seyd  (see  Saadi). 

Shattuck,  Col.  D.,  96. 

Shepherd,  William,  92. 

Shooting,  157. 

Shops  (see  Concord). 

Shrewdness,  125, 196-201. 

Sicily,  43. 

Sickness,  his  early,  31-36,  223,  244 ; 
his  last,  193-195;  attitude  towards, 
212. 

Simplicity  in  poetry,  229. 

Sims,  the  fugitive,  80. 

Skating,  157. 

Slave,  fugitive,  76,  77,  80;  act  con 
cerning,  77. 

Slave-holder,  87,  89. 

Slavery,  34,  75^80,  83-85. 

Smoking,  155. 

Social  Circle,  1,  146,  149,  190;  Book 
of  Biographies,  1,  24,  139,  149,  190. 

Society,  100. 

Society  versus  Solitude,  27, 168,  215, 
217. 

Soldiers,  91,  92,  93. 

South,  visits  to,  33,  34, 190. 

Southerners,  80. 

Sphinx,  The,  a  poem,  227. 

Spiritual,  true  meaning  of,  248. 

"  Spiritualist "  revelation,  142. 

St.  Augustine,  34. 

Stage-coach,  96,  97,  120,  142. 

Staples,  Samuel,  138. 

Stars,  113,  225,  239. 

Stevenson,  Miss  Hannah,  31. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  his  philosophy,  31. 

Stow,  Cyrus,  134. 

Study,  Mr.  Emerson's,  63, 158, 167. 

Success  out  of  failure,  82. 

Summer-house,  127,  128. 

Sumner,  Charles,  80,  184,  258. 

Sunday,  observance  of,  169-171. 

Sunday-school,  67. 

Sunday  walk,  171, 172. 

Superlative,  98,  219. 

Swedenborg,  37,  48,  101. 

Swimming,  157. 

Symbols,  40,  94, 163,  238,  239,  241. 

Taliessin,  229. 
Tariff,  83. 

Taverns,  94, 141,  150. 
Taylor,  Rev.  Edward,  71. 
Teamsters,  their  last  struggle,  142. 
Temperance,  153-155,  206. 
Terminus,  the  poem,  183,  258. 
Thayer,  James  B.,  Professor,  185. 
Thoreau,  Henry  D.,  71,  104, 106,  110- 
115, 126-128, 133, 191. 


Thoreau,  John,  128. 

Thought,  214,  242,  250. 

Tobacco,  155. 

Total  abstinence,  153,  154. 

Town  meeting,  71-73,  80-83. 

Town  offices,  67. 142, 146. 

Trade,  83,  84. 

Trauscedental  epoch,  153. 

Transcedental  guests,  153,  206-210. 

Transcedental  poetry,  217. 

Travelling,  46,  156,  157, 178-182,  184, 

186,  187,  217,  218. 
Truant,  13. 

Truth,  241,  242,  252,  253. 
Truth,  aspects  of,  248. 
Tucker,  Ellen  Louisa,  36. 
Two  Rivers,  a  poem,  232-234. 

University,  Glasgow,  189. 

University,  Harvard,  degree  of  LL.  D., 
183;  Overseer  of,  143,  183;  course 
of  lectures  on  Philosophy  at,  183, 
184. 

University  of  Virginia,  190. 

Uriel,  the  poem,  229,  244,  245. 

Van  Mons'  theory  of  amelioration  of 

fruit,  130,  131. 
Voice,  165. 
Voting,  80,  81. 

Walden   and  Walden  woods,  58,  157, 

171,  172,  193. 

Waldeinsamkeit,  the  poem,  232. 
Waldo,  129. 
Waldo,  Rebecca,  2. 
Walking,  111,  126,  156, 166, 171, 172, 

191-193,  231. 
Walks  (see  Concord). 
Waltham  school,  20-22,  24. 
War,  88,  89,  122,  144,  145. 
War  of  1812,  17. 
Ware,  Rev.  Henry,  37-40. 
Webster,  Daniel,  5t,  78, 104,  223. 
Wesson's  tavern,  94,  141. 
White  Pond,  116,  118. 
Whitfield,  104. 
Whitman,  Walt,  228. 
Wine,  24,  154. 
Wood-god,  59,  232. 
Woodland,  58,  127. 
Wood-notes,  64,  111,  118. 
Woods,  59-65,  79,  111,  116,  163,  164, 

192,  193,  232,  249. 
Wordsworth,  45,  172,  173,  224. 
Worship,  89,  249,  250,  254,  255. 
Writing,  method  of,  54,  63,  64,  213- 

237,  247,  248 ;  condensation  in,  64, 

214,  219-221 ;  early,  20-24-27,  31. 
Writing-school,  13. 

Young  people,  interest  in,  143,  145, 

147, 174-177. 
Youth,  177,  257. 


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